Every Rose
by INeedCoffeeArghhh
Summary: After coming within seconds of dying under the hands of a stranger in the shadows, Gregory is forced back to South Park - a move that unwittingly puts him closer to the hunter's fiery grasp. There's a secret hanging over him, and time to solve it is running out. Gregory/Damien - slash. (And Gregstophe.)
1. Chapter One

_A/N: Gregory and Damien - vastly vastly underwritten. _

_Warning: Drama. Violence. Mentions of blood. Blasphemy. The Antichrist. Smut. The good guys are the bad guys. The hero is the villain. And you will fall in love with the most evil thing on Earth._

___I've decided to make the second genre Romance, because while it isn't romantic at the moment, this isn't particularly an extreme adventure. It is a story to do with the coming of the Antichrist and there will be action, but it's much more to do with the struggles in his mind about love and humanity as well. If I could label it modern-day Gothic Romance then I would._

_Story title taken from the song 'Every Rose Has its Thorn' by Poison._

* * *

He was warned: _Beware of warm-blooded killers_. They had tried to warn him. He ignored the warnings.

The dead of night was always quiet in certain parts of the city. Crooked streets lay deserted, nothing in them but darkness, the darkness that waited for someone to make a wrong turn and trip into its grasp. Everywhere around: narrow alleys, dead ends, bad neighbourhoods. Many of the streetlights were indefinitely broken. They allowed cruel creations, broken, moralless beings, who welcomed crime with a lustful grin. These criminals were barely human, so set in their enjoyment of the chaos shadows could bring. Sometimes these criminals weren't human at all.

There was a demon on the night that changed everything, and that demon had a task. That Demon had the blond in his grasp.

Damien growled, ripping through the silence. The only other sound heard was the panting in front of him. Glimpses of blond hair twisted through the shadows. He was the hunter of this long, tiresome chase. Streets memorised, all dead ends known. It was only a matter of time before the blond became cornered.

Damien knew it had happened as soon as his prey turned left at a rundown mechanics. The street pretended to lead somewhere but just around the corner hid a hard brick wall. If visible, the triumphant sneer on Damien's face may have instantly killed the hunted man. The blond gasped when he realised his error. He had to slow down, few seconds to decide what to do. The wall was too high and there were no other exits. Too much time had gone by and Damien had gotten into range.

Damien didn't carry a gun, since he'd never had a need for one. Guns were just there to kill people and he could easily do that from a distance without bullets. Damien did, on the other hand, carry a knife, because knives had many uses, not limited to harming - though in this case that's exactly what he intended.

He pulled the knife from his pocket and with a blast of inhumane power, sent it flying forwards, mirroring the way a circus performer may entertain his audience for their amusement as he aimed at a spinning target. But Damien wasn't a circus performer and he was not aiming to miss. It ripped through soft material of trouser and entered the blond's thigh, finding its place in the taught muscle. The blond doubled over, head scraping the hard concrete beneath. He didn't move, falling instantly unconscious from the blow. His light-brown trousers began creating a circle stain with blood as it left his wound.

Damien smirked. In the colour of his eyes reflected the warm blood before him.

The hunted was right there now, lying on the ground, perhaps the only thing standing in Damien's way. Killing him should have been easy; there were so many ways to do it. He supposed he could use his powers to explode the man, rip him apart from the inside, causing maximum pain and damage. However, he wasn't sure if that was the best idea. He would go for the conventional kill, using no hidden powers. He wanted to make it look like just another everyday murder. The stab wound in the blond's leg was already doing a fine job of losing him blood, but Damien knew that alone wouldn't be enough. He got closer, flipping over his victim to view his face properly for the first time.

He expected the man to be good-looking. He'd expected the pale, glowing skin, soft pink lips, and an almost angelic air. But he didn't expect such breath-taking beauty as seeing it all together on the man's face. It fitted though - it had to be him. Damien chuckled and bent over, bringing their faces incredibly close. He stroked the cold, soft cheek in a moment of taunting, satisfied in his achievements, determined not to allow himself to lose this satisfaction.

"It's a shame I have to kill you, Blondie," he whispered menacingly, barely distinguishable from the harsh wind that blew around them and rustled the blond's hair, sending the smell of papaya shampoo and copper blood to mix with the elemental smells of the damp ground and faint smoke. "But I can't allow _you_ to live now I've found you." And he had proved that he wasn't easy prey. Chasing through the streets of St. Louis hadn't been easy. He was fast, not as fast as Damien, but he was quick-thinking and that kept them almost equal.

The blond had never seen who was chasing him - Damien blended with the shadows - but his eyelids slightly fluttered open then. They didn't open fully, unfocused and hazy. Damien could only see the promise of light-blue beneath his fair eyelashes. The eyes shut again and the man lightly groaned.

Damien imagined what it would have been like to see those eyes open fully - something he really wanted to see. He wanted the chance to take in this man when he was fully conscious. Sure it would be enjoyable, but then he may miss his chance. And of course there was the possibility that killing would become much harder. He couldn't allow himself the emotion of want. He looked at the man again.

"Don't fight it." He graced his fingers over his smooth forehead. "You never know... perhaps you'll go to Heaven?"

"'E's not going anywhere."

Unexpected visitors, they always turned up at the least convenient time. And Damien knew that he particularly didn't want to see _this_ man.

"Step away from 'im, Damien." The man shook his head and growled. His words came out in a French accent, which Damien instantly recognised as belonging to Christophe DeLorne. His encounters with the blasphemous Frenchman in the past had never gone smoothly. Now as Damien peered up, Christophe looked very angry. _"Stop, now."_

The smirk fell from Damien's face into another, unreadable expression. "Is it him?" He posed his question coldly and emotionlessly.

"Non." The Frenchman spoke confidently - a lesser person may have believed him.

"You can't lie to me, Christophe," Damien growled, ferociously baring his sharp teeth. "It's Gregory."

"...Oui."

"The one that I've been _searching_ for." Damien looked into Christophe's eyes. "You _did _know the right one."

"Non."

Damien gazed down at Gregory's face again, unable not to once again marvel at the beauty. It all looked so... innocent. It made him feel sick. Christophe appearing didn't change anything. Damien easily had enough power to beat him, and he should have killed him straight away, not even let him said a word.

The voices came into his head then, one always from the left, one always the right. The growing threat of his plan failing hung in the air.

**'That's right. Kill him, Damien. Kill him and Gregory. It's all you need to do.'**

_'Spare them both. There has to be another way. Can't you see this is wrong?'_

**'There's no other way.'**

_'There's always anoth-'_

The voice stopped at the unexpected speed of the Frenchman. In his confusion, fury and distraction, Damien had left himself vulnerable to attack. Christophe had tripped him from his crouch, kicked him and knocked him to the floor. His head blurred and he rolled over but his momentary haze had given Christophe time to throw the blond over his shoulder and escape.

Damien yelled with fury enough that the ground beneath him shook, cracks appearing in the previously strong concrete. He slammed his fist down on a crack so hard that it opened a little more, revealing an empty blackness that did little - but something - to calm him down. He stared into the dark and drew breath for the first time all night.

Fuck, he'd let them go.

**'How could you let them go?'**

_'He wanted to let them go...'_

**'You fool.'**

He shook his head.

His father was going to be furious.

* * *

Gregory's head span. He forced his eyes open and then immediately closed them as a shooting pain ran from left to right. His muscles were sore and heavy, extra tender around his shoulders, and as he adjusted to being awake he noticed that he had the most terrible pain in his leg. He groaned. There came a rustling beside him and then the feeling of someone kneeling over him. Gregory forced his eyes open again and blinked rapidly.

"Gregory," grumbled Christophe, concern in his sleepy voice.

Gregory croaked as he tried to regain use of his mouth. "Tophe?"

Christophe's face came into focus. "'Ow are you feeling?"

Gregory took a deep breath, welcoming the rejuvenating air into his lungs. How _was_ he feeling? He frowned, this sending a piercing through his head.

"I'm okay," he replied, trying to force his eyes open. "But... what... happened?" He looked around the room: definitely a motel. There were the tell-tale signs of peeling wallpaper, bare minimal dark-wooded furniture and the sheets around him, greying, though they smelt fresh enough. So, a_ cheap_ motel. "I don't remember anything." He hoped he hadn't been drinking. The banging headache and dry throat seemed to hint at the possibility, but he felt something else, something more important. He felt the shadows spinning around his mind. He felt it in his leg.

And then the other feelings came flooding. _Panic_. He'd been running.

He shot up from his lying position, almost colliding heads with Christophe in the process.

That's right, he had been chased. By whom? He hadn't a clue. For what? He was even more stumped. It was common to be chased. He had sustained many injuries in the past. But to not know the purpose and even more, not remember how he had come to wake up in the run-down motel, that was unusual.

Gregory stared into Christophe's concerned gaze. He looked into the tired green eyes, where light from the edges faded to dark in the middle. He forced himself to focus on nothing but Christophe's eyes, and that's how he regained composure. He rarely lost it, but when stress threatened to panic him, the green did the trick. Fear of the unknown, that's all it was. Gregory hated not knowing things.

He pushed himself back against the headboard in a sitting position. "What happened last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"Only that I was being chased and it was dark... and I fell. Yes, I hit my head and then blacked out."

"Oui, you were being chased. I found you een time. Zey were trying to kill you."

That fact didn't scare Gregory, nor did his heart raise a beat. There had been many people in his life that had tried to kill him. None had succeeded (obviously). As a result of their failure, he had killed them. There was no use having an enemy running around plotting your downfall when you could simply end all the bother with one cap to the head. It made much more sense.

"Who?"

Christophe scratched his head and leaned over to his side of the bed - he always slept nearest to the door - to retrieve his packet of cigarettes. He lit one up and took a drag before answering, offering one to Gregory, who of course refused (for as many times as Christophe tried to convince him, he would never smoke).

"I do not know."

"A stranger or was it too dark?"

"Oui."

Gregory frowned at Christophe's aloof attitude. "Which one?"

"... Eet was dark, but I zhink zey were strange."

Gregory nodded as he took in the information. He supposed it wasn't out of the question for an angry stranger to be chasing him. He'd screwed a lot of people over in the past. Good and bad, tough and weak alike. It was bound to have some repercussions, some person with an itch. The person may not even have needed a reason. It may be that it was going to be just another meaningless murder on the streets of St. Louis. He continued thinking as Christophe sat there, silently drawing the life out of a cigarette and filling the room with smoke. Gregory breathed it in. He enjoyed the smell of smoke, fire, ash, anything of that nature. He didn't know why, but he found it soothing.

"I want us to take a break," said Christophe. The words came from nowhere and stunned Gregory.

"A break!?" he asked incredulously. "From what? We don't take breaks!"

"Non, we should." Christophe sighed. "I just zhink zat we've been running around nezer stopping for so long zat eef we're not careful we'll both run into early graves. We 'av an apartment een South Park, oui? I say we go zere for a while. Just until..." Christophe paused. "...We both refresh."

"So long? We're only in our early twenties!" Gregory yelled. "And I _do not_ need time to refresh."

Christophe stubbed his cigarette on the bedside and lit another. His eyes seemed anxious and his general attitude was one of not trying to anger Gregory but to stay firm (it angered Gregory). "Zen try walking on zat leg."

Knowing nothing about his injury, but still being defiant, Gregory cut in. "My leg's fine."

"Look, I'm not saying zat we should stop, just take a leetle time out from ze mercenary work."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you!"

Christophe turned to Gregory pleadingly. "Please weel you do zis? Pour moi? I need zis."

Gregory sighed and looked at Christophe's tired eyes and face again. Sure, the man could do with a break. He pulled himself out of the bed, noticing to his disdain that his shirt was filthy and blood-stained, and as he tried to stand his leg screamed at him to not apply pressure. His trousers were off and he noticed that Christophe had cleaned up and dressed the wound.

"Careful, mon ami," reminded Christophe. "You were stabbed. Eet's not too bad but you must not put too much pressure on eet."

Gregory smiled faintly. He hobbled to a mirror and looked in it. He too was looking tired and worn out, carrying the same weight in his eyes as Christophe. He sighed and gave in.

"Okay, Tophe. Let's take a _short_ break." He locked eyes with his friend. "_Short_."

* * *

So that was how Gregory came to steal a car, and Christophe drove both of them towards their old, hick, mountain town, of which he had never planned to live again. The apartment had always been a home address (for reference), a place to store their old belongings and when passing through the area, a place to restock their items. It_ was not _a place to live for extended periods of time.

But he had to listen to Christophe: his old friend and one companion of his complicated life.

The first time he and Christophe met was when they were both six. They were at Yardale together. Yardale was the private school in the area. It demanded high levels of respect and higher levels of money. Luckily it got so much of the latter from Christophe's parents that the headmaster overlooked how the former was lacking - that was until a certain day in high school where after that Christophe had to leave. Gregory had to leave about a year after he'd met Christophe as his parents decided they no longer wanted to pay the tuition fees. They were lousy parents, sending him so young to America to live with his aunt while they stayed getting richer in England. They never wanted a child and could not handle the sometimes threatening and calculated way Gregory behaved. They thought he'd have a better life with a more loving and tolerant relative abroad than at an expensive boarding school. Gregory loved his aunt but she was a very busy lady and also never had much time for him.

Their families had long left South Park, gone back to their respective countries.

He continued to see Christophe outside of school hours, often waiting outside the gates of Yardale. He would always grin at Christophe and receive a glare back. They grew up together and most of their memories were in some way linked. Christophe was there the first time Gregory lost a tooth and complained for days that he no longer looked any good. He was there the first time Gregory planned a successful mission to get someone's Lego back. Gregory, in turn, was there the first time Christophe smoked a cigarette, and the first time he broke a bone but refused to go to the hospital. Eventually Christophe's mother had found out and for a few months, Christophe was unable to dig. When the bone finally healed, Gregory didn't catch his friend doing much else, so he nicknamed him 'The Mole' and throughout his childhood the name stuck. Gregory still liked to use it on missions because it was convenient.

As both boys grew so did their taste for danger. They helped many people out by fucking many people up - it went with the job. They were often avoided in high school because of this. It never bothered them, though Gregory did take Wendy as a girlfriend for a while, just to prove to Stan Marsh that he could. Soon after that he decided that he really wasn't interested in girls (Wendy was not shocked at this revelation).

The question eventually arose as to whether Gregory and Christophe were involved in a secret relationship. The answer, though they'd been known to fool around together, was a very definite _no_. Gregory loved high cheekbones, pale faces, and dark eyes. He adored the intense and mysterious or those that opposed him in some way. Christophe had a rounder shaped face, tanned skin and surprisingly light green eyes. He did have the intense but he was never a mystery to Gregory, who believed they shared every secret and everything was already discovered. He held Christophe as forever his closest friend and the most important thing in his life. He loved him deeply, but not on a level of _passion_.

Gregory had never found anyone to call his own. He felt like he would be forever without anyone. The thought never really bothered him. He had the charm, he had the looks, but there was absolutely no one special enough. The only person he'd ever had sex with more than once was Christophe, their friendship being so close and unconventional that it worked. They sometimes used sex as a distraction, a comfort, a stress reliever. During the night-time of some of their harder missions, when they were squashed together in a sleazy motel with nothing better to entertain themselves, sex was used. It felt nice to be that close without feeling awkward.

Everyone else with luck enough to catch Gregory's eye had been drunken-fun and one-night stands.

In Gregory's opinion, taking the break had been a ridiculous idea. Why was Christophe so convinced that they needed to rest? It wasn't as if they weren't used to danger and people trying to kill them. Avoiding that kind of thing was what they did for a living. It seemed unusually suspicious that Christophe would suddenly want to stop at that moment.

He knew though that whatever happened, he would always stick with his best friend. The Frenchman could volunteer that they go to the Arctic and Gregory would probably agree. If Tophe knew it was for the best then he didn't doubt it probably was.

He couldn't realise that he was unknowingly heading into the most dangerous phase of his life, nor could he realise that, for some unknown destiny, he was being followed.


	2. Chapter Two

_A/N: Thank you for your reviews and follows. It's re-assuring that there's more people who believe in the pair! I appreciate the reviews very much._

* * *

If there was anything worse for Gregory than the long car journey with a grumpy Frenchman who didn't believe in speed limits, it was actually arriving at their destination.

He sighed. There they were, finally living in their old apartment. How brilliant. He opened the door with such a lack of enthusiasm that Christophe pushed him to the side and entered first instead. He set his travel bag of essentials down and ran a hand along the sofa, before jumping and lying on it, as if they'd never been away.

Gregory knew it was all an act to help him accept it.

He stepped - with a slight limp due to his leg injury - into the apartment and closed the door, trailing his eyes slowly around it. Nothing had changed - Why would it? It was all so... normal, containing items they'd accumulated or inherited over the years. Many of it was the old furniture Gregory's aunt did not want to take back to England.

The main area was of an open plan living and kitchen area. The living area consisted of a blue fabric sofa. One arm of it was touching the cream coloured walls, the other a nest of tables. On the top table stood a very bright lamp Christophe's mother had bought when the Frenchman had refused to wear reading glasses. Opposite the sofa was a small TV - Gregory's one from his old bedroom. Some action DVDs and nature documentaries were stacked to the side, along with a couple of romances Christophe claimed weren't his (they were).

Continuing along from the sofa there was a blue arm charm, which backed the dining area - a single oak, square table with room enough for four chairs. There were only three chairs there as Christophe had broken one. This suited both of them fine as it left more room to pass.

Further still was the kitchen, continuing the blue and cream theme. There were all the usual large and small appliances - a microwave which no longer lit up, a toaster that only grilled on one side, a kettle with a built-in electronic whistle. Gregory turned that whistle off after the first time he'd used it. A breakfast bar with two stools linked this to the dining room.

There were hardly any embellishments or small touches that made somewhere a home, because it never had been. This apartment looked more like it belonged in a showroom: meticulously clean and cold.

Christophe sensed it, looking over Gregory's deadpan face. "Eh, eet will warm up soon."

Gregory scowled, leaving his trance. "No it won't, because we won't be staying long enough."

"Mon ami, please give eet a chance."

Gregory huffed and went to inspect 'his' room - the place where most of his old stuff from home had come to. It meant he had his double bed. He opened the door and sighed again. It was a mess, completely unlike him, with all his old items stacked and dumped in the corners. At least the bed was made with clean sheets, though Gregory had the urge to freshen them. He walked to his closet and stared at all the clothes he'd not had the opportunity to wear in a while: crisp expensive shirts, tailor-made trousers and possibly the best of all, leather Italian shoes.

...There were positive points to being back in the boring apartment then. Others included a hairdryer and the chance to arrange himself exactly how he'd often had to neglect doing, thinking about style and not just practicality, the chance for a stable diet, one that didn't consist of skipping breakfast, shovelling down takeaways and often coming to the conclusion that they had more important things to do than eat and a big, comfy, double bed of which he did not have to share if he didn't want to.

That was it. That was all he could think of. Things which were hardly worth bothering about. Clearly for such an extrovert as Gregory, it wasn't enough to put up with boredom.

Shopping... that's what he was going to do. And not even interesting shopping. Food shopping - something he hadn't needed to do in quite a while. He'd already decided that he would just buy the basics, nothing that would last for very long because they would help Christophe see that they wouldn't be here for very long. He would just buy enough to keep them 'ticking over'. He walked back into the living room.

"We need food, Tophe."

"Oui."

"And some other supplies like soap and toilet paper."

"Absolutely."

"I'm going shopping. Are you coming with me or are you going to fall asleep on the sofa?"

Christophe shook his head. "I'm going to see about zat job sign we passed."

"At the cemetery?"

"Digging graves would be ze perfect job for me for now." Christophe stood up and smiled. "And eet will 'elp us keep up appearances."

Gregory sighed and nodded. "Sounds good. I'm going to Henry's Supermarket. I'll walk with you as far as that." He flinched as Christophe rubbed one of his shoulders, and then relaxed, remembering it was just friendly contact.

"Do you not need to rest first? Try not to put too much pressure on your leg, remember. Eet only 'appened a couple of days ago."

"No. I know." A shiver ran down Gregory's spine. "I really wish I could remember it."

"...Oui. Just... don't worry."

Gregory sighed. "Okay."

As they left and entered the cold Colorado air, Gregory noticed that someone had written _beware_ on the side of their apartment building. He sighed moodily. Beware of what? Unrelenting boredom in a small red-neck town in the middle of snowy mountains that promised nothing but hick entertainment? God, it felt like there was nowhere to escape the monotony.

* * *

Throwing items into his shopping cart, Gregory was mainly buying the essentials. Milk, eggs, bread, tea bags, cheese, alcohol... and more alcohol. His mind was thinking over the pros of getting blinding drunk as he shopped, ignoring the cons. The alcohol aisle became the most important and that is where he overheard a rather odd conversation.

Two men had come in to buy a crate of beer as Gregory was looking between getting a bottle of wine or something stronger. The men stood by the beer, one putting his hand on the other's shoulder before speaking:

"Is something troubling you, Bob? You aint been acting the same today?"

The other man tilted his head and sighed. "It's my cows. They're acting very queer."

"How?"

"Sleeping patterns changing. They stand around for longer in the night-time and then come morning when they're due for the milking, some of them are still sleeping." He scratched his head. "Aint never happened before."

The man who had asked the question frowned. "Oh."

"Folks are sayin' that the nights are getting longer," continued Bob.

His friend laughed. "Nights is always getting longer at the moment. It's just to do with our orbit, right?"

Bob shook his head. "I'm not sure. I have a bad feeling about this. Something just don't feel right about the darkness."

"You need a beer and to stop worrying."

"My livestock's my life!"

"And I'm sure it will work out. Come on. Sarah's got a..."

Their voices trailed out as they walked towards the check-outs. Gregory laughed to himself about their conversation and began pushing his cart to another aisle. It mostly seemed bizarre and probably a product of the rancher's imagination... except for the part about the darkness not feeling right. Gregory didn't know why but he felt that as well. In fact the longer he thought about it, the more darkness seemed relevant. And then, out of the corner of his eye, possibly no more than _his_ imagination, or the shine on an item of jewellery, he saw a flash of bright red.

Gregory fell backwards.

_A blaze of red, a white face, black hair._

His hands left his shopping cart.

_Step away from 'im... Is it him? ... lie to me, Christophe... Gregory... Searching..._

His legs collapsed under him.

_Lifted off the ground and eyes forced to tear away as his surroundings became nothing but a blur. There was a faint name. It was right there. Da..._

"Are you okay?!"

Gregory's eyes snapped open and dizzily he tried to regain his focus from the ringing memories in his head. He noticed properly he'd blacked out when he felt someone pulling gently on his arm and noticed he was much lower than he had been before, collapsed on the floor against a potato chip stand. He groaned and looked up into the person's eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a concerned tone. "You fell. Should I get help?"

Gregory shook his head. "I'm fine." He gripped his cart and pulled himself up, thankful it didn't flip or roll away. He winced at the pain that flared up in his leg. "Just a bad leg. Must have doubled over on it..."

"It looked like you'd fainted."

He smiled. "No. I'm fine, thank you."

She still didn't look convinced, but nodded. "Okay, well you take it easy now. Don't go running around or anything." She smiled and continued shopping.

Gregory raised his eyebrow and turned around, heading towards the check-out. He had enough supplies for them to get by for a few days.

He considered what he'd just remembered.

So it was no stranger. Christophe clearly had more knowledge to the goings on and more reasons behind the move than Gregory had previously realised.

* * *

Gregory found that he really didn't want to stay in the apartment once he'd unpacked the shopping. He was still annoyed by the fact Christophe was withholding information from him. They had never kept anything from each other before and it was aggravating him. Surely anything that Christophe knew, Gregory could be trusted with too. What possible information was there where withholding it and leaving him in this irritated state was better than just telling him? The likelihood was that he'd rationalise the information in his head and come to a logical conclusion about what to do with it, consulting with Christophe and deciding if action needed to be taken.

It was probably nothing dire. It still pissed him off though.

He lasted in the apartment for as long as he could and then left, searching for a distraction from the lack of Christophe. He ended up walking aimlessly around the streets of South Park. There wasn't much there, particularly at night-time. He had three options: he could go and get a greasy takeaway from a less than sanitary looking chicken joint, he could go and get a tattoo that would probably leave him horribly infected or he could go and drink himself under the bar.

He really only had one option there.

He walked into what he perceived to be the most tasteful bar i.e. the one that did not have half-dressed women or neon sign. These were two of the things Gregory _always_ avoided because in his experience they caused nothing but boredom. He looked around the bar he entered for a hint of excitement but saw none. He ordered a gin and tonic from the barmaid and took a long desperate sip when it arrived, savouring the flavour on his tongue and the warm feeling that spread through his body.

It was not enough to quell his anger but enough and it would numb it for a while.

Sometime later, as he sucked for the remnants of his drink, he felt the warm presence of someone sitting down next to him. He could sense that it was a man by the scent of spicy, but subtle cologne. The voice, when it spoke, was deep and unusual and vaguely familiar, though Gregory's head fuzzed at where he'd heard it before. "Jack and Coke, and whatever Blondie here is having."

Gregory sighed inwardly. Yet another guy thinking they can buy him a drink and chat him up - how very dull. This happened regularly without Christophe around. With Christophe people tended to stay away but on his own, Gregory didn't come across as fearsome, quite the opposite, his body language was always unintentionally alluring. And why was it always men? Was he that obviously gay?

He was about to open his mouth to refuse but when he turned and made eye contact, the words never left his mouth.

This man was utterly breathtaking. Pale, flawless skin smoothed over an exquisitely sculptured face with high cheek bones and intriguing dark shadows under the eyes. The eyes themselves were extremely dark. They looked a dark reddy-brown, seeping into black, and the look in them was intense enough to make his knees collapse had he been standing up. The rest of the face was manly but subtle. The features blended seamlessly to create something you could easily stare at for eternity. This man was what Gregory considered perfect.

For the first time since he could remember, he changed his mind. "I'll have another gin and tonic." He continued to stare at the man in front of him when he spoke, his eyes falling over how red the lips looked, especially contrasting to such pale skin.

The man's lips curled into a satisfied smile, one that could be intimidating if not so gorgeous. "My name's Damien."

Gregory smiled back. "Gregory."

Damien nodded and a pleased look appeared on his face. "English?"

Gregory was surprised he could tell. He thought he was losing his accent, as much as he tried to hold onto it. "Originally, but I've lived here for most of my life." Gregory was having trouble placing Damien's accent. It seemed like it could be American but he wasn't entirely sure which part. It was almost like a mixture of all of them but at the same time it was none of them. It almost felt like with a subtle change in his pronunciation and tone, Damien could have any accent he wanted. "Where are you from?"

"I've been around." Damien took a swig from his glass, drawing Gregory's attention back to his vividly red lips, the traces of liquid clinging to them just highlighting this more. "Can't tell you a hometown because I never had one." He fell silent for a moment, then smirked. "So what brings you here, Blondie? I can't see a place like this appealing to someone like you."

Gregory smirked back. "I have three questions before I answer yours." Damien seemed to smile at this, the glint of Gregory's challenge reflecting in his dark eyes. Gregory raised his eyebrow. "First, are you going to continue calling me Blondie?"

"Yes." He supposed he didn't mind it. It wasn't often he got given a nickname, though he was sure he'd been called Blondie very recently by someone else, he just couldn't recall where.

"What do you mean by a place like this?"

"South Park," replied Damien. "I'm only visiting, though I do have a house here. It's a quiet place to get away."

"South Park's my hometown... of sorts."

Damien frowned. "There's no way that you've lived here for all of your time in America. Surely you got out as fast as you could?"

"Yes," admitted Gregory.

"So what brings you back?"

"A break I guess." Gregory sighed; he hated being reminded of it. Everything in his old town was so depressing. "A little bit of quiet for a while. My... partner thought it was a good idea."

Damien looked with all intensity into Gregory's eyes. He looked and sounded so familiar but Gregory was sure it was just his imagination recognising what he dreamt of for most of his life. He was faced with his dream guy and it was like they'd already met. Damien's brow creased in confusion, there was almost a put out look to it. "You're seeing someone? That's a shame."

Gregory smirked. "Well now why should I tell you?" He loved the way that instead of answering, Damien just raised his eyebrow and waved the question off. He posed his third question with a sly grin. "What did you mean by someone like me?"

Damien smiled again. "You're after thrill and adventure surely? Why, the second you walked in here you took in the whole place to check for trouble or something fiery happening. When you saw there wasn't, you ordered a drink and sat on that bar stool bored."

"You were watching me?" asked Gregory curiously. Something in the confident, almost arrogant way Damien was talking drew him in. It secretly excited him that the man described perfectly what had happened.

"Of course, you're very eye-catching." Damien leant in closer. "I'd be a fool not to notice your stunning face. It's almost... _angelic_."

Gregory rolled his eyes but couldn't stop a pleased smile. He found himself mirroring Damien's body language, happy to get a little closer. "You're not too bad yourself." Understatement of the century. "Actually, you're rather handsome."

"You're going to boost my already very high ego."

"In that case, I don't like your shoes," teased Gregory looking down. He ran his eyes back up Damien's body in obvious slowness. He guessed he must have been quite tall. Gregory himself wasn't short at five-eleven, but Damien looked six-foot-something. His eyes lingered over Damien's chest and then moved up to his face, which was sporting a flirtatious grin. "And it wouldn't hurt to add a little colour to your outfit. A splash of orange never went a miss."

Damien smirked. "Would you prefer it if I took my outfit off... You could see my brighter skin instead?"

"Getting a little ahead of ourselves aren't we?" Gregory took a sip of his drink, grinning into it. "I don't even know your full name."

"...Thorn, my surname is Thorn." The look on Damien's face was searching, like he expected it to trigger something. He seemed cautious to whether Gregory would have something to say to that. Gregory had never heard the name before in his life. Damien leant closer. "What's yours?"

"My surname is Ro... Williams. My surname is Williams." He felt his heart speed up. He never gave out his true surname for safety reasons and it would not have been good practice to tell it to a stranger he'd just met in the bar. Only those from his childhood knew his true surname.

Damien raised his eyebrows, obviously sensing the lie but not questioning it. At that moment, Gregory could have sworn he saw Damien's eyes flash red. It was only momentary and he put it down to the lighting, thinking no more about that fact, but that flash of red had triggered something else in Gregory's mind.

_A blaze of red, a white face, black hair. _

Gregory gasped.

_A faint name. Right there. Da..._ _Damien._

Gregory rapidly drew his face away from how close it had grown to Damien's and stumbled off his stool.

"Oh my God! It's you. You... You tried to kill me!" He felt no fear, just shock. He was more than ready if Damien suddenly made a move to kill him again. "That night, that person standing over me... it was you. _You_ had an argument with Christophe because you were trying to _kill_ me."

There was no way it was a coincidence they'd ended up in the same redneck mountain town. Coincidences like that just didn't happen.

Damien's whole persona changed. His lips curled from a smile into a scowl, his eyes narrowed and at was as if everything around them fell into shadow, though the bright lights of the bar remained. Damien's words came out barely above a growl. "No... you were... the wrong person." He shot up then, so fast that Gregory barely registered it, muttering more to himself than anyone, "I have to get out of here." And before Gregory could disagree or say another word, Damien had left.

So, Damien knew exactly who he was and what he'd tried to do to Gregory even before talking to him. Gregory wanted to believe that he was the wrong person very bad but he knew he couldn't. He also knew that whatever went down, Christophe knew the truth. And whatever reason they'd both ended up in the same town definitely had something to do with him. He was going to tell Gregory whether he wanted to or not.


	3. Chapter Three

_ A/N: Hey! Welcome to chapter three! If you're liking this story then place drop me a review just so I know you're out there. :)_

_And remember - Drugs are bad, mmkay?_

* * *

Damien didn't mind Hell. He'd spent as much of his childhood there as any other place. He knew his own power, that even the other demons bowed at his command. Sinners would see him and fall down to their knees, not from respect but fear of the consequences if not. There were many different methods Hell used to torture someone and Damien knew all of them.

Hell's layout wasn't so bad. The darkness and endless pits could be quite soothing for his strained head, the pools of burning fire and magma, pretty to daydream by. Damien preferred every supposedly horrible feature, designed to torment the human soul, a lot more than he did his dad's uncomfortably normal home decor. It was the turquoise walls and soft-fabric sofas that scared him the most, the disturbingly cute collectables and ornaments perfectly arranged on specially allocated shelves.

He hated the comfort because the comfort wasn't comfort.

He stared up into his dad's angry eyes and gulped.

"Do you enjoy failing me?"

Damien's hands twitched by his sides. "Father..."

"You bought him a drink, talked to him and then ran when he figured out who you were? You didn't think to kill him then! You spared his life _again_!?"

"Father, there were lots of witnesses."

"I don't care! Kill them all! Burn down the bar!" Satan slammed his hand on the coffee table and stood up, now towering even more above Damien - small and shockingly human-looking by comparison. "This should all be second nature to you."

Damien looked down at the floor and nodded. "I panicked."

"You panicked! What have you got to be scared of? You're the Antichrist."

Damien sighed. "Sure, I know that."

"If you don't kill him soon and this whole_ situation_ we have comes true then _you_ are going to die."

"I still think it's a bunch of bullshit. There's no way a mortal could do what they say he could. I don't think we need to worry about him, Father. He doesn't seem like a threat."

Damien lied about this. The blond did seem like a threat, but not in the same respect his father was talking about. With his light blue eyes, angelic face and intriguing personality - flirtatious, smart and so alluring - Gregory was becoming a threat in a very different way. Reaching to a place Damien never let anything go and causing feelings he swore he would never have to deal with.

Human emotions - there was no place for them.

"The saying 'It's better to be safe than sorry' applies here."

"But what if _by_ killing him everything goes wrong?"

"What do you mean, Son?"

"What if bringing him here - to Hell - is all part of his plan? _Or_ what if he knows nothing, has no plan and then when he gets sent here, decides to do something. Perhaps if I don't kill him, it will all go to plan."

Satan crossed his arms, almost pouting in annoyance. "... I want him dead. I won't let him do anything."

"But-"

"Do it, Damien."

"No, I think we should observe him for a while."

"Don't disobey me," he yelled. "I'm Satan!"

Damien rolled his eyes. "You're pathetic."

Gasping as his feet left the ground, Damien immediately wished he hadn't said this. Satan threw him against a wall and held him, staring with terrifying yellow and black eyes. However whiny and pathetic his dad may have been, he was very strong about this cause. This was what Damien had been born for. Damien knew he wasn't cared about. He choked out his words. "I-I'm sorry!"

"I can always have one of the other demons kill him if you're not strong enough."

"N-No," stuttered Damien, trying to pry his father's fingers away from his throat. They tightened. "I-I'll do it."

"Don't come back until he's dead." Satan dropped Damien to the floor and turned away, storming into the kitchen (probably to do some baking). Damien painfully swallowed and held his sore throat, glaring at the ground.

Fuck.

* * *

The gentle buzz of the TV greeted Gregory as he walked back through the door of his apartment. He threw his jacket lazily on a hook and then immediately took it off, placing it back on neatly. He kicked his shoes off without untying the laces and then bent down to untie them anyway. When he entered the living room, he saw Christophe sprawled asleep in front of a nature program. He rolled his eyes and took the remote from his friend's loose grip, flicking the TV off.

"Are you incapable of putting yourself to bed without me?" he grumbled.

Christophe grunted awake and looked around. He smiled when he saw Gregory and glanced down at his watch, seemingly shocked by the time. "Where 'av you been zis late?"

"Out."

Christophe groaned and stretched, sitting up. "Oui. Out where?"

"I was at a bar."

"Were you drinking gin?"

"I may have been."

"Ah." Christophe nodded knowingly and stood up to look at Gregory closely. "Yet you're steel in control of yourself. Well done."

"I didn't have as many as usual."

"Why?"

"I got talking to someone."

"You?" Christophe raised an eyebrow. "You actually let someone chat you up?"

Gregory sighed. "I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, deciding that he wasn't going to question Christophe about Damien just yet. It was late, and Christophe wouldn't be in the best state for talking. "He seemed nice, I guess." More than nice, he seemed perfect. Gregory sighed again. "Nothing's ever simple."

"Zis sounds... intriguing?"

"Tomorrow." Gregory walked to his room and shut the door behind him. "Night."

* * *

Gregory woke up the next morning with a mug of tea thrust in his face and some toast thrown on his lap. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, groggily sitting up and glaring at the slightly over-burnt bread. He flicked his eyes to Christophe, still only in his boxers. Christophe smirked and climbed into the bed next to him, taking a piece of toast and starting to eat it, before speaking first.

"Good morning, angel. I want to know more about last night."

Gregory groaned again and sighed. "What?" He ran a hand through his hair. "You're up before me! How is that even possible?"

Christophe shrugged. "I slept while you were out last night." He poked Gregory. "And I want to know."

"Do you have nothing better to do than wake me up and question me about my night?" Gregory took a sip of the tea, which he had to admit was pretty nice, and essential to starting the morning right.

"Non."

"Wait a second. Did you get the job?"

"Ah! Oui." Christophe smiled. "Zey weren't sure about taking someone with no experience but zey soon changed zeir minds when I showed zem a demonstration." He chuckled.

"Do you have set hours?"

He shrugged. "Zey differ. Eet's eizer late afternoon eento evening zey want me to work, or early morning. Ze hours don't matter as long as I deeg my quota. I get weekends off."

"Sounds perfect."

"Oui, now speel."

"Sure, Tophe. I'll tell you if you really want to know." Gregory set down his tea and took a bite of toast, setting it down again as he chewed.

"Well I want to know eef zey're good enough, zough I fear zat's an impossible task." Christophe smiled at Gregory and looked into his eyes. "It's rare a guy gets close to you."

"Yes, and he was such a breath-taking man. He was tall, black hair, a pale perfectly structured face, fierce eyes..." Gregory watched Christophe face, which drew more emotionless and pinched with every detail. "And his name... _Damien Thorn_. Such an intriguing name." He smugly took another sip of his tea.

"Damien Thorn?" Christophe asked casually, hiding his clenched knuckles under the covers, though Gregory had already noticed them. "And... what 'appened?"

"We were talking, flirting, the usual." Gregory shrugged. "It was definitely going somewhere. I was sure I was going to let him take me home if he wanted to."

Christophe's hand flew out and grabbed Gregory on the arm. "NON! I forbid eet!" Gregory blinked slowly at Christophe's violent action and looked down at the hand that was squeezing him tight. It took Christophe a few seconds to finally loosen his grip. "I - uh - don't think zat's a good idea."

"And would that be because he was the one who tried to kill me?" snapped Gregory. "A detail you failed to tell me."

Christophe nodded slowly and pulled his arm back. "I thought you would be safer eef you didn't know - zat eet would be easier."

"How? I was happy to get close to the man who almost killed me. How have I been safer?" Gregory shoved the plate off his lap and turned to straddle Christophe, glaring at him straight in the eyes - a position he always took when he wanted to show he was dominant in the argument and Christophe was not going anywhere.

Christophe bit his lip, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "I thought eef you didn't know who he was and he saw zat you had no idea zen he might leave you alone. And I hoped zat eet would also mean you wouldn't try going after 'im..."

"We always go after them!"

"Not zis one. He almost succeeded een killing _you_. Zat says a lot."

"He told me I was the wrong person. _You_ told him I was the wrong person."

Christophe licked his lips. "Oui, and zat's why I hoped he'd leave you alone."

Gregory growled. "I don't need being cared for like that. I can look after myself." Christophe didn't look so sure. Gregory got even more annoyed but remembered to stay calm. He really didn't want to hit his best friend as frustrating as he was being. "Do you know who the _right_ person is?"

Christophe flicked his eyes down to his lap. "Non. I believe he was searching for someone for a specific reason and _we_ 'av never crossed him before so eet couldn't be you he was after."

"So you don't know why he wanted this _person_ dead?"

Christophe replied confidently. "Non."

Gregory didn't believe him. "So then... if it isn't me he's after, why are you so worried about me being near him?"

"He's dangerous. Can't you tell? He's really fucking dangerous." This Gregory did believe.

"He used your name, Tophe. You know him."

"Sheet."

"Now, tell me the truth."

Christophe bit his lip. "Zen please give me some space." He pushed Gregory off him, slightly red-faced. Gregory reluctantly agreed, rolling back onto his ruffled side of _his_ bed, though it seemed Christophe just assumed full rights to it.

"Explain."

"Drugs." Christophe's look transformed into one of anger. "'E was my drug dealer..."

Gregory gasped. Christophe had mentioned _that_ time, the horrendous period of their lives that had grown almost taboo to talk about. Christophe once claimed that drugs heightened his reflexes and reactions to situations where he needed to be strong. They did no such thing, putting him instead in grave danger and almost costing him his life, found dying from an overdose one day. Gregory had managed to get him off the hard drugs - primarily cocaine - and they'd both sworn never to go near them again. Neither had broken the promise.

Gregory felt a twinge of hatred for Damien at that point. Christophe had never told him the drug dealer because he knew what Gregory would do if he got the chance. Now Gregory felt so confused.

"So you knew him as a teenager?"

"Oui, een Denver. I don't think he lived zere but zat's where he did 'is business from. Zis may sound weird but I think drug-dealing was more of an 'obby zan anything for 'im."

"How much do you know about him?"

"Really, not much." Christophe looked truthfully into Gregory's eyes. "I would buy ze drugs and I would leave. Zere was just zis one time zat I ended up talking to 'im properly. I was particularly desperate for drugs zat day and I think he was bored so he asked me what was wrong."

Gregory stroked Christophe's arm. "What was wrong, Tophe?"

"You." Christophe sighed. "Eet was ze night after we'd first 'ad sex."

"Oh." Gregory nodded as he remembered. "You really lost it when you woke up the next morning and remembered..."

"Oui. Well, Damien was interested een hearing about you once I'd mentioned you. Eet was like a sudden detail sparked 'is interest. I can't remember all I said, but I remember saying I was freaked out zat I'd just slept wiz my best friend... and you were so attractive wiz blond 'air and an angelic face and I called you an arrogant Brit and when I finally said your name 'is eyes lit up.

"He asked me your surname. I told 'im ze fake one, zat eet was Williams, because suddenly I didn't trust 'im. Suddenly eet was like zere was something not quite right about 'im... After he heard zat your surname was Williams he seemed disappointed and 'is eagerness dropped. Zen you 'elped me come off ze drugs and I cut all connections wiz ze faggot."

Gregory's mouth went dry. "But that wasn't the truth."

"Oui, and zat ees what saved you until now, obviously he's found something else out and he's back after you."

"But why?"

"I don't know."

"I - I almost told him my _real_ surname last night."

Christophe sucked in breath and then sighed. "I don't think eet matters now. He knows you're ze right one. Why did he say he was here?"

"He said he has a home here, that it's a quiet place to get away for a while." Gregory sighed. "He seemed so nice until I recognised him and then he ran away. Surely if he was going to do anything he'd have done it last night? I think he'll be staying away from me."

"Well, okay, but eef ze moment 'e comes near you, you 'av to tell me. I'm sorry I didn't tell you zis sooner. Do you still trust me?"

"Oh, Tophe. Of course I do." Gregory sighed and smiled. Christophe smiled back in relief and leant closer to him. Gregory laughed at the almost sentimental atmosphere between the two of them. They were meant to be violent mercenaries, but their tight friendship always led them to caring moments. This time, Christophe was showing his protectiveness.

"Would you like to cuddle?" asked Gregory. He put on his most seductive smile, though it was hard to stop it spreading to a humoured grin.

"Knock eet of, faggot," hissed Christophe, but just to contradict himself he wrapped an arm around Gregory, pulling him close. "I 'ate zat you make me do zis."

"_I_ didn't _make_ you do anything... and you love it!" Gregory sighed and rested his head on Christophe's shoulder.

"Eh, oui, and I love you." Christophe fell silent. Gregory would have been convinced he was lighting a cigarette if there had been any stored in the room. He thought to himself that it was only a matter of days before Christophe sneaked a packet in somewhere to have on standby. He glanced up. Christophe was staring into space, anxiously biting his lip. He blinked when he saw Gregory looking at him and then smiled.

"Want me to check your leg?" he asked, throwing the covers back. He didn't seem to care about Gregory's answer so Gregory just allowed it, smiling as Christophe got the bandages and re-dressed it. It was sweet how much Christophe cared and weird to think Damien was the harmful one that caused it. Sometimes he wished he could just fall in love with Christophe, and that Christophe would fall in love with him in return, they would not notice anybody else and just enjoy their happy bond into old age.

He knew that could never happen.

He sighed and thought about Damien. Damien was searching for him and he had a horrible feeling if they were to have another encounter, things would not be as enjoyable...

Why then, at imagining _that_ face, were fluttering feelings finding their way circulating around him?

* * *

Damien woke up with the choke of something soft in his mouth. He coughed and moved his head away, noticing it was also wet. Groggily he took in the messy scene around him.

He'd been chewing the pillow. He hadn't done that in years. It was something he'd always done when he faced a moral dilemma in his childhood - a dilemma for him at least. It had happened the night after he'd tortured his first victim. His dad had praised him, the demons had cheered and he'd felt sick, staring into the dull eyes of a person tormented beyond the level of pain anyone should have to suffer. He'd showered for a hour that night - an hour six minutes to be exact - washing away the blood, just trying to drown out the pleading look in those old man's eyes. When he'd woken up the next morning, it was to being surrounded by feathers.

It had slowly stopped but started happening again after he'd killed for the first time. He knew it was guilt; it had to be, but why did he feel it at all?

And now it was happening again...

He groaned and rolled out of bed, hungry for breakfast. Noticing his alarm clock he realised that it would probably be classed as lunch. That was one of his problems. When he slept, he slept deeply and for a long time - often meaning he could go a few nights without doing it again.

He was just walking down the stairs when someone knocked on the door - an unusual occurrence when there was absolutely no one he was expecting, no one who knew he was taking residence in this house. He hoped it wasn't neighbours... or Mormons. If this was Mormons then they were in for a surprise.

Damien opened the door and stopped himself from reacting shocked like he wanted to, though he probably should have expected this. Instead he smirked and folded his arms, leaning against his doorframe.

"How lovely to see you again so soon after..." He trailed off, letting his silence fill in what he wasn't sure he could. "How do you know where I live?"

"Zis town eesn't very big. I know ze right people to ask." Christophe scowled. "Why are you here?" He was holding his shovel and looked like he was dressed to do some manual labour - but then he always dressed like that. Not like Gregory, thought Damien. On both occasions he'd seen the man, Gregory's clothes had looked meticulously neat and expensive.

"Relax, Frenchy," Damien replied.

"Not while you're here."

Damien yawned and rolled his eyes. "I didn't answer the door to be kicked out of my own house." He ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair, knocking a feather from it in the process. "What's the problem anyway? I'm not doing anything. I was just about to eat a Pop-tart."

"You tried to kill Gregory!"

"Ohhh _that_," Damien replied like he'd forgotten. "Yeah..."

"So I don't particularly trust you." Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Why deed you try to kill 'im ze first time but not ze second?"

"I'm not interested in him anymore," Damien lied. "Father doesn't want me to pursue him any longer. We've done all the studies we need."

"Fazer?"

"Yes, Father." Damien smirked. "Need I remind you?"

Christophe's face fell almost as pale as Damien's chest. "Non." Damien noticed the Frenchman clutching his shovel tighter for safety. Cute. "I - I still don't trust that you've finished wiz Gregory."

"Well you're going to have to take my word for it. And remember there is nowhere you can run and there is no point in hiding." Damien reached forward and tapped Christophe's nose lightly, remembering it was a move he used to do after their dealings. "So you're just going to have to learn to live with me." He smirked when Christophe drew his face away in repulsion.

"Blondie's very charming isn't he?" continued Damien in an almost mocking tone. "Such a beautiful face, so expressive too. I bet he can pull some _really_ nice expressions." He raised his eyebrow. "Especially if someone were to go get him excited."

Christophe raised his shovel a little higher. "'E wants nothing to do with you."

"That's his decision." Damien looked down at his nails. "And that didn't seem like the case last night."

"You don't think realising you tried to kill him may 'av changed zat?"

Damien looked up again. "No. In fact I think it will make him want _more_ to do with me."

Christophe shook his head and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. "You're crazy."

"Mmmm perhaps." Damien extended his hand. "Would you like me to light that for you."

Christophe pulled his hand away sharply. "Non. Keep away."

"Whatever you say." He swung the door shut and smirked at Christophe's angered growls. He turned around and regained his thoughts. He had a mission to complete...

He had to make Pop-tarts.


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: _Hello folks. I've decided to make the second genre Romance, because while it isn't romantic at the moment, this isn't particularly an extreme adventure. It is a story to do with the coming of the Antichrist and there will be action, but it's much more to do with the struggles in his mind about love and humanity as well. If I could label it modern-day Gothic Romance then I would._

* * *

Gregory and Christophe were having what Gregory officially claimed a 'lunch-date'. Christophe had called him a faggot and hit him on the head with a spatula but the name stuck. It amused Gregory, who sometimes referred to Christophe as his boyfriend to strangers just for his own entertainment. And then strangers would go up to Christophe and ask him questions such as: 'Your boyfriend told us you could give directions to the nearest bank?' Christophe would sigh and roll his eyes with a smile and Gregory would laugh.

Gregory was walking to the restaurant and finding a sense of relief that it had become a lot easier, the wound in his leg now only stiffening his movements slightly.

He walked past some more graffiti and had to pause briefly to consider it. _'Beware warm-blooded killers.'_ Had they meant to put 'cold-blooded' and simply misunderstand the meaning of the phrase? Or had they really meant that one should be wary of people who killed in a spout of anger or intense burst of emotion? He looked closer. The colour of choice was red... And he wanted to say that it looked too thin to be paint. He hesitantly leant forward and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the result. Someone had written it in blood.

He frowned and walked on. The whole town was crazy.

When he arrived at City Wok, vaguely excited because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had Chinese, he noticed two people from his past that he wasn't expecting to see, primarily because he assumed they'd have escaped South Park years earlier.

Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski sat facing each other, finishing their meals, talking between mouthfuls and smiling. Gregory walked up to the counter, managing not to be seen. He wasn't purposefully avoiding them but he didn't particularly want to go over either. He'd act as if he hadn't seen them. He placed his order as he listened in to their conversation out of curiosity and just plain nosiness.

Stan's voice talked first: "Did you hear there's talk that the volcano very near us is going to erupt again?"

"It's just idiot talk," replied Kyle in an annoyed tone. "People are blowing a few small signs which could mean other things way out of proportion. What does your dad think?"

"He doesn't think it's possible, so everyone's blaming the lava Gods or something..."

Kyle sighed. "This fucking town. It can't be true. They make a big deal out of anything. That's why I moved."

"It's a shame this is your last day. I've enjoyed having decent company again." Stan sighed.

Gregory handed his money over the counter and watched Kyle raise his eyebrow. "Oh now that's not completely true. Let's not forget the girl you've been seeing." He looked to Stan's face for a reaction and saw he was violently blushing.

"How did you know?" mumbled Stan. "I haven't told anyone."

"I can just tell when you're loved up." Kyle grinned. "Even if I've only ever seen it with Wendy."

"Mmmm." Stan nodded. "Yeah."

"So who is she?"

Stan sighed. "I can't say right now. I promised I wouldn't."

It looked like Kyle was going to push for further information, not let Stan get away from him so easily, until he caught Gregory's eyes. His eyes went wide with shock and then he smiled. Gregory smiled back and then decided it would only be polite to go over and say hi. He placed one hand on their table when he got there and smiled again at Kyle.

"Hello."

"Hey, Gregory!" replied Kyle. "It's a nice surprise to see you again."

Gregory nodded his head. "You too." He turned his head to Stan, who was glaring down at the table. He jolted as Kyle must have kicked him and glared up at Gregory instead. "Hello, Stanley."

"Gregory," Stan grunted reluctantly.

"Always a pleasure." Gregory smirked. "_Always_." Stan's glare turned into a scowl.

"I'd say the same but I'd just be lying, like you."

Gregory laughed callously. "It's cute how you're hanging onto old grudges, Stanley. It really shows what a mature person you are..." He raised his eyebrow and turned his attention back to Kyle.

Kyle glared at Stan and smiled at Gregory. "So, are you just visiting or what?"

"Tophe and I are taking a break here for a while. I don't know how long really."

"Great," grumbled Stan.

"It sure will be," said Gregory, putting a hand on Stan's shoulder. "We'll have plenty of time to _catch up_."

"We need to go," Stan snapped, getting up and shrugging Gregory's hand off his shoulder. "It was... seeing you again, Greg." He pulled his coat on and walked towards the door. Kyle smiled apologetically and patted Gregory on the back.

"I'm so sorry about him. I'd have loved to catch up more but I've got to go with him."

Gregory waved his hand dismissively. "He has reason to act like that."

Kyle nodded and rushed to follow Stan. Gregory chuckled and walked to sit down at a table.

Christophe arrived very soon after, storming in the usual manner through the door, checking the area around himself for possible threats, and as always, any possible way an unwelcome visitor could make their arrival. Pulling off his coat, he thrust his arm out to hand it to Gregory. Gregory took it and put it on the back of his own chair; it was always the way. Before that, Christophe had been notorious for throwing his coat on the dirty floor, much to Gregory's dismay.

_'Eef you care so much, beetch, zen put eet on ze back of your chair.'_

So that is what Gregory, on principle, had done ever since.

"'Av you ordered?" Christophe asked, grabbing the menu and all but ripping it as he violently scanned it, as if daring the food he wanted to leap out at him.

Gregory took the menu out of his fingers and placed it back on the table. "I have ordered you the sweet and sour."

"Chicken?"

"Of course."

Christophe stretched and yawned in a more relaxed way. "I love you."

"Naturally," replied Gregory. He felt he'd got the timing right, as their order arrived only a minute after Christophe had arrived. He smelt the inviting aromas of his shrimp chow mein with glee. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had the opportunity to dine out properly with Christophe, even if it was only in a cheap Chinese, and his friend was covered in dirt from work.

He caught the eye of the Frenchman, greedily shovelling the chicken in his mouth like it was still alive and planning on running away. As Gregory gathered a fork of food, he made a dramatic scene of making Christophe pay attention to what he was about to say - not that it was very interesting. He just liked drama. "I just saw Stan and Kyle."

"'Oo?" grunted Christophe with a mouthful of rice.

"Kyle Broflovski- went to our high school, red hair, know-it-all. Stan Marsh... his best friend."

"Marsh?" Christophe paused, thinking and chewing. A look of realisation came to his face. "Ze boy you fucked, non?" He grinned. "Oh, I remember now."

Gregory banged his hand on the table, a momentary blush crawling to his cheeks. "Once! That happened _once_. I hate Stan Marsh. We were drunk."

"Oh, Stanley, I 'ate you but my deek loves you. Please get your ass een ze air," impersonated Christophe, in an unnecessary high-pitched voice and an even bigger grin on his face. He lowered his voice. "Oh, Gregory, I am drunk, please take advantage of my fragile state." He ended up in a fit of laughter, even having to set his cutlery down momentarily to rest his face in his hands.

Gregory was not impressed. He distinctly remembered it not happening like that, if you could call it anything at all. It was the result of a crashing a party, one too many vodka shots, a very comfortable looking bed to sleep in for the night, and the black-haired boy it belonged to. "He wasn't fragile."

Christophe spiked a chunk of chicken to his fork. "You took 'is virginity."

Gregory concentrated on his meal, impatient for the subject to change. "Yes." Stan would never admit it. It was one of the reasons he hated Gregory so much.

"He took yours?"

"No."

"Oh?"

"You know this."

"Because..."

"You did, Tophe."

"Zat's right, beetch. I rock." Christophe shoved the chicken into his mouth in triumph, chewing through his grin.

"Don't forget who took yours, arsehole," Gregory grumbled. He threw his fork onto his plate with considerable force. He leant forward, resting his head on his hands. He stayed like that for a few minutes as Christophe silently ate in front of him. The conversation ran through his mind. His day ran through his mind. It was all so unfulfilling. Gregory's mind felt like already it was a once fat and juicy worm, shrivelling and shrinking in the hot desert sun where it didn't belong. What was there to keep his mind occupied? Nothing. Could he survive like 'normal' people exercised their brains - through crosswords, puzzles, perhaps chess? No. He was not that type. He needed to plan. He needed to observe. He _needed_ that adrenaline.

God, how did people live this way? His brain was already dying.

"Tophe, I'm bored. You have your job, I have nothing." Gregory tapped his hand impatiently on the table. "I can't cope with having nothing to do. I can already feel myself going insane."

"So get a job."

"And have someone telling me what to do? Not a fucking chance."

"Why don't I murder someone, 'ide ze body and zen you 'av to find eet?" Gregory pursed his lips and stared into space for a few moments contemplating the idea. His only worry was if someone else found the body first. Christophe sighed and cut his thoughts off. "Mon ami, I was joking. I 'ope you're not seriously considering cold-blooded murder as a boredom reducer?"

"When have I ever murdered in anything else?"

Christophe grunted and slouched back on his chair, crushing a prawn cracker into small pieces. "What about Wendy? She's still in ze town right?"

Gregory flicked his eyes to Christophe. "You want me to murder Wendy?"

The Frenchman chuckled. "Non, mon leetle extrovert, I meant pay 'er a visit."

Wendy was still in the town the last Gregory had heard. She was in something to do with the medical profession working at Hell's Pass. He gave in. "I suppose that's not the worst idea you've ever had."

* * *

Later that day when Christophe went back to the apartment and told him to go be social with someone else, Gregory found himself walking to Wendy's house - the new one he'd found she'd moved into last time he visited. He knocked on the door and it swung open to a squeal of delight. The girl on the other side threw her arms around him, wide grin on her face.

"Gregory!" She squeezed tightly and he took in her scent, which was almost sensual and never failed to remind him of his teenage years. "What a surprise!"

Gregory grinned and hugged her back with one arm. "Hello, Wendy."

She drew away, still beaming, but hit him with a sharp punch on the arm. "Not one phone call for so long! You could have been dead in a ditch for all I knew!"

"Go easy on me... it's my birthday."

"Gregory, your birthday is the sixth of June, don't bother trying to lie."

"Oh... I'm a rotten friend." He smirked and pulled a bunch of flowers from behind his back. It was a beautiful bouquet of pink roses, lilies and hot pink gerberas, among seed eucalyptus, picked out with a sharp eye and arranged expertly. He held them in front of her. "Can I be forgiven, darling?"

She rolled her eyes. "You think it's that easy to charm me?" But she took them from him and sniffed them, nodding in approval. "It's a good thing you're so gay. These are lovely."

Gregory held up his hands in honesty. "I really wish I could take credit, but it's Christophe who has the passion and sorted them for me." He'd always been in awe of that skill. Christophe often hid his creative mind, but Gregory knew that when he combined it with his love of gardening, flower arranging came naturally.

She laughed and stepped aside for him to enter. "Well you tell Christophe they're lovely." Gregory nodded and stepped inside, wiping his feet.

Wendy's house was just as spotless as he remembered. Everything had its place and stayed there. Even little thing such as the television remotes were placed at a precise angles next to it. After a quick scan of the house, Gregory knew more than he could find out in an hour's conversation with her, and he was blunt so he came straight out with what he wanted to say, after Wendy had made them tea and they sat down.

"So... you're pregnant."

Wendy gasped and looked up from her drink. "Who told you?" she asked in alarm. She frowned. "I- I haven't told anyone, not even the father!"

Gregory grinned. "It's so obvious to me. You look pale like you've just thrown up, I can smell bleach coming from the downstairs bathroom and looking around this house, you're obviously living with a man." He leant in. "And if you're keeping it a secret then I'd recommend hiding _that_ a bit better." He pointed to a small pamphlet from the doctor's, sticking out of a women's magazine.

Wendy nodded slowly. "I forget how good you were at doing that..."

Gregory frowned - not nearly good enough when trying to work out secrets revolving around himself. "So... boyfriend?"

Wendy stared ahead of her. "Yeah... Jack." She spoke slowly. "He moved here about four years ago. I instantly fell for him." She shook her head.

"And the baby's his?"

"Who else's would it be?" she snapped, almost too quickly.

Gregory raised his eyebrow. "I don't know. You tell me."

Wendy glared. "It's his. It's his." She clenched her fists. "Shut up, Gregory. It's _his_."

"Fine. Kid yourself and lie to me if you want to. I'm here when you want to admit the truth. Here _for now_ anyway."

Wendy sighed in exasperation. "How long _are_ you staying for?"

"I don't know. As long as Christophe continues to insist that we need a break or whatever the hell he's calling it." Gregory was still going to blame their change of location on Christophe, and make out that he wasn't happy about it, because leaving South Park and forgetting Damien in the hope of not being followed was probably the wisest decision. Though Christophe's logic seemed to be that as long as they knew where Damien was, they were safer.

"A break from each other?" Wendy rubbed Gregory's shoulder sympathetically. "You're not having relationship problems are you."

Gregory laughed callously. "How many times did I have to tell you when we were younger that him and I are just friends? Granted we have certain benefits but we're still only friends."

"But the way you always looked at each other..."

"_Friends_."

"Well I know you had a crush on someone when we were younger, because that was definitely the reason we broke up. There was someone else."

Gregory's face gave no knowing away, but he knew she was right. The person was Stan and the reason he'd ever got with her was to spite him. Gregory shook his head - she could never know. He valued her friendship even if it was tainted by his poisonous personality, like everything else in his life. He couldn't think of one thing or person - save Christophe - that he hadn't messed around in some way to suit his own needs. And he was convinced that the only reason he hadn't messed Christophe around was because the Frenchman was too lethal himself.

"Someone... yeah

maybe. But it wasn't Tophe. Besides, we broke up because you're not male."

"Okay. So what is it a break from? What do you even do?"

Gregory used his usual lie for situations like this. "I draw up plans for demolitions of buildings, making sure it's all safe, calculating the quantities of explosions needed and such. Christophe changes, but he has a job digging graves at the moment - he considers digging a relaxing break from his other job."

Wendy looked at Gregory expectantly.

"A night-guardsman. Terrible hours, rough area. Not nice."

Wendy nodded. "Right, so that's your cover for mercenary work. Glad to know in case anyone ever asks me."

Gregory raised an eyebrow at her, quite surprised by her knowledge, but not overly shocked. "You really are a very smart girl."

Wendy sighed and touched her stomach. "Sure, very smart."

Gregory smiled and wrapped his arm around her. "It will work out, Wendy. Just have faith."

* * *

It was a little while later when Gregory and Wendy had talked about Wendy's job and Gregory had filled her in on as many details from what he'd been doing as he thought suitable, that the door opened and a very male voice called out:

"I'm home!"

Wendy smiled. "That'll be Jack." Gregory looked up as he entered the room. Jack looked across and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, you got company." His eyes flicked over Gregory.

Gregory stood up, out of courtesy, to shake the man's hand. Though, if first impressions were anything to go by, he really didn't like Jack. His broad shoulders and strong muscles were crammed into a tight-fitting flannel shirt. The way he stood drew attention to his crotch, which clearly he wanted Gregory to look at just so he could get an accusatory glare in his eye. He chewed on gum with a sleazy leer on his face. Gregory could see that beneath the persona he was very sharp-minded but didn't use it in the most intellectual ways. He was not the type of man anyone expected Wendy Testaburger to be with.

That was his initial impression anyway. He usually wasn't wrong... _Usually_.

He stopped himself from thinking about how wrong he'd got Damien.

"Nice to make your acquaintance," said Gregory, making sure his grip was just as firm as Jack's.

Jack smiled smugly. "Hello."

Wendy wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, kissing him a little too eagerly and he, in turn, squeezed her ass, mumbling some highly offensive words which need not be repeated. Gregory did not want to be subjected to hearing such sexist words of what he supposed was affection. It shocked him that Wendy allowed them since he and her always used to fight sexism. If Jack wasn't around, and she wasn't pregnant, he'd tell Wendy to leave him straight away. He guessed she had some problems there; it was already clear she was cheating on him.

"Well, I need to go now. It was so lovely to see you again, Wendy."

"Please do visit any time, Gregory."

"Gregory... you mean your ex-boyfriend Gregory?" Gregory could feel Jack's eyes probing over him, taking in his hair and outfit, reading his face. Gregory knew exactly what was about to be said. "But, he's a fag." Yep, there it came. How predictable.

"Don't be rude," scalded Wendy.

"But look at him!" Jack pointed to Gregory as if he wasn't even there. He was playing the alpha male, trying to intimidate the others, like Gregory even cared. "I bet he can't even walk straight."

What had Gregory done to bother this guy so much apart from breathe?

He shook his head and announced, "As engrossed as I am in this conversation I really must be going."

He quickly walked out the door, listening as Wendy scalded her arrogant prick of a boyfriend. And though Gregory knew he himself could be an arrogant prick, he at least did it in a classy way and usually gave himself a very good reason for behaving as such. That guy was just a dick. Visiting Wendy again was out. Planning Jack's death may have been on the table...

...No. Not worth it.

* * *

It was already falling dark when Gregory left Wendy's house, which baffled him slightly; it wasn't that late in the evening. He didn't think too much about it though as the Earth knew what it was doing and there was no way anyone could interfere with it. He laughed to himself, thinking how he always jumped to the conclusion that it was somebody's fault and not just simply the way the world worked.

"Something funny?"

Gregory was shocked almost enough to scream. His body flinched into defensive mode and he wheeled around, ready to punch whomever was there. He gasped when he saw the shockingly black hair and pale almost glowing face of Damien, smirking down at him.

"You!" exclaimed Gregory, reaching for the rapier from his belt that he knew wasn't there. Instead he clutched empty air. He didn't know what he would have been planning to do with it anyway.

"I was funny?" Damien grinned. "I wasn't aware I'd told a joke."

"Shut up!" Gregory shouted in anger. "How can you be acting so care-free?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"No, considering the fact you tried to kill me, and then talked to me like nothing had happened. What did you think? That I'd go home with you and never know? That you could use me some more and then kill me?"

Damien held his hands up defensively, black flickering into his eyes - it must have been the darkness? "I told you. You were the wrong person."

Gregory gritted his teeth and stepped closer, keeping his eyes fixed with Damien's. "I don't believe you. In fact, I know you're lying."

"Oh, of course, you're Christophe's partner." Damien scoffed. "He's probably told you more about me. He's probably poisoning your mind."

"Tophe always tells me the truth." Though Gregory knew these words weren't strictly true, he didn't need to admit this to Damien.

"Sure he does." He shook his head and trailed his eyes over Gregory. "I'm sure he enjoys having you to play with." He stared into Gregory's eyes with a cold snarl on his lips. He didn't have any of the warmth he'd had in the bar, or even the slight warmth of the previous minutes. It was as the other man didn't exist, or was buried deep down, so deep that all traces of his charm had suffocated. "Fine. You were the right person, but I'm no longer interested in killing you."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

Damien shrugged. "I don't care if you believe it or not." He mirrored the blond's actions and stepped closer to Gregory. "Unless of course you start digging around, because I've heard you like doing that."

"You tried to kill me, maybe I am going to dig around."

"It's a bad idea. It's an idea that could make me change my mind about killing you."

Gregory scoffed this time. "You don't scare me."

"I should."

Gregory leant in and whispered in what to anyone else would be a truly terrifying voice, "You don't."

Damien playfully snapped his teeth at Gregory then and laughed. "Can I buy you another drink, Blondie?"

"What?!" snapped Gregory, completely caught off guard.

"Well, if you get me drunk enough I may just spill all my secrets to you." Damien smirked. "I can be a lot of fun when I'm drunk." He traced his eyes down Gregory's body and back up slowly. "Maybe you can to."

"Stay away from me. And stay away from Tophe too."

Damien held a hand to his heart. "I was only asking, beautiful." It was a game. It was all a game to him. Something in the proud way he held himself, his confidence, his arrogance, gave him the power. Gregory had to remember this and not let the fluttering in his stomach get anywhere near his head. Damien was trying to mess with his mind.

"Fuck off." He shoved past Damien and began the cold walk back to his apartment, feeling heated and angry and in need of a sharp drink.

"So... I'll be waiting for you at ten in the bar!"

"You'll have a very long wait!"

* * *

**Next time:**

"I remember elementary school and I remember you were the only one that was nice to me, not that I really care about that." Damien frowned. "Out of sentimental value I'd always have liked to keep you as a pet but you_ insist_ on loving Jesus, which is a stupid move because you're still not going to get into Heaven when the time comes..."

"Damien, what did you come here for?"

"To remind you that if you tell anyone who I truly am I'll tear your flesh and lock you in my basement where you'll never be found." He shrugged. "Your choice."


	5. Chapter Five

"Your hair's getting long."

"Can you cut eet?"

"Yes."

Gregory spent the morning and afternoon with Christophe. He cut his hair and they went shopping, allowing Christophe the opportunity to get some of the food _he_ wanted (because Gregory was practically living off alcohol but didn't want the Frenchman to starve). When they arrived home, the phone rang - it was Pip inviting them over for dinner. Christophe rolled his eyes but Gregory accepted, telling him they'd be delighted.

"Great, I 'av to spend ze evening wiz two Brits," grumbled Christophe.

"Oh don't complain. I thought you wanted us to have a normal life for a while."

"I do, I do!" Christophe sighed. "Eet sounds fun."

"Good." Gregory looked over Christophe. "Go buy him some chocolates or something since he doesn't really drink, and then change your shirt... and when was the last time you shaved? Do that too."

"Go fuck yourself."

Gregory smirked. "I'll make it worth your while."

Christophe tilted his head. "How will you make it worth my while?"

Gregory stepped closer to Christophe, running a hand down his chest as he went, stroking his hip bone and then finally tracing down the front of his pants. "Can't you guess?"

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "I think I may 'av an idea..."

"Chocolates. Shirt. Shave." Gregory pulled his hand away and grinned.

* * *

Damien didn't like to think he was stalling. He liked to think that he was taking care of any possibilities that could go wrong. He'd tried, definitely tried; he'd invited Gregory to the bar with the intent to kill him. (That was after the promised drink of course, and if the evening progressed in a certain way, well that wasn't his fault. A few hours of 'entertainment' shouldn't have made the difference if he killed Gregory after.) But Gregory hadn't turned up, and he couldn't help that.

Now he was simply clearing something up as he waited for his next opportunity; that was all it was.

**'That better be all it is.'**

Damien sighed.

He recoiled and held his nose when Pip opened the door, looking over the short blond with disgust. He'd forgotten it was Sunday, and Sunday always meant one thing in this Brit's life. Damien could see the almost glowing light around Pip, something that would take a few hours to disappear again. Blood and body of Christ: it really pissed him off. And even more so because Pip wasn't Mormon and was ultimately wasting his time (even if it did have some short-term effects).

"Ughh, Pip, you stink of Jesus." He glared. "Don't go to church before I visit you!" He almost felt like he was going to throw up. It wasn't that it was a bad smell, just that it was there to repel him.

Pip gasped. "Damien!" His face fell pale. "What are you..."

"I need a few things confirmed," interrupted Damien, pushing past Pip into the house, which also stunk of purity and good deeds. "Don't worry. I won't kill you if you listen and do as I say. Shut the door."

Pip gulped and reluctantly shut the door behind them, turning slowly to stare up. "Oh?"

Damien still felt queasy. "Can't you do something sinful to take away your church stink? Go outside and kill a bird or tell a lie? Anything!"

"No."

"Tell a lie right now!" he commanded.

"I think you're a nice guy."

"..." Damien huffed and sat down on a kitchen chair, crossing his legs under him, absently rocking back onto two legs and perfectly balancing there. (He'd mastered gravity at age ten.) He pointed a finger at an apple and made it fly over to him, not so he could eat it, or do anything really, just because he could.

Pip looked a little cautious at the magic being so carelessly used. "Please, Damien. What if anyone comes in and sees you?"

"Not your concern, old chap," mocked Damien. "Just shut your mouth and listen."

"Oh." Pip frowned and closed his mouth, deciding to stay standing as he listened to what Damien had to say.

Damien lit a cigarette with his finger before he begun. He really didn't like to smoke that much; he saw no need. Instead, he used it as a tool, a way of joining with people, making them feel more comfortable to do it, more comfortable spilling secrets to him. He also did it for the opposite reason: to annoy people. He knew having smoke in his home would annoy Pip. (It also helped cover the church smell.)

"Well," he began. "You know more about me than I care for an ally of the enemy to know." The enemy in question was Gregory and being an 'ally' meant simply being a friend.

"You boasted your powers; you gave us no choice."

"Most have forgotten me, Pip. It seems to have simply melted from their minds over the years. Without mention, they wouldn't remember. But not you."

"I spent more time with you." Pip shook his head. "A stupid mistake, really. I just wanted a friend."

"I remember elementary school and I remember you were the only one that was nice to me, not that I really care about that." Damien frowned. "Out of sentimental value I'd always have liked to keep you as a pet but you _insist_ on loving Jesus, which is a stupid move because you're still not going to get into Heaven when the time comes..."

Pip was impatient now - he could tell. "Damien, what did you come here for?"

"To remind you that if you tell anyone who I truly am I'll tear your flesh and lock you in my basement." He shrugged. "Your choice."

Pip looked remarkably calm for someone who'd just been given a death threat by the Antichrist. "I understand your words."

"Gooood," Damien stretched out as if bored, taking another drag on his cigarette. He tapped the table and pointed at the wine bottle on it. "Are you expecting guests soon. I wasn't aware you drank for pleasure.

"I don't. It's a present for Christophe and Gregory."

Damien stared at the bottle for a little longer as a smirk came momentarily to his lips. He dropped it just as quickly and looked disinterested. "They're coming over soon?"

"... Yes."

Damien nodded and looked at his wrist - there was no watch on it, but he could read the time just as well. "One moment." He walked outside Pip's house and round the side where a very scared looking man was standing; he had brown curly hair and wore expensive clothes. Damien picked him because he was conveniently in the area, still naïve about things and therefore easy to manipulate, and seemed to be able to take a fair amount of abuse without breaking.

Damien knew breaking point would come soon with _him _being the one controlling Mark Cotswolds, but it was still better than the other choices.

Damien smirked at him. "I have a new task for you." He pointed to the back of the house. "Hide around there and wait for Gregory to come out, then follow him and tell me where he goes." He dropped his hand. "Do that and I won't hurt your sister."

Mark stared up at him and nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Good boy."

Damien sauntered back into Pip's house and sat back down, stretching and continuing to hold the cigarette he wasn't really smoking that much. "So where were we, old pal of mine?"

In a bold move, Pip sat opposite Damien and looked into his eyes. "Please don't hurt him."

Damien raised his eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."

"Gregory. I know you think it's best for your future, but it's not."

"And what do you know?"

"I know of the prophecy, Damien. I know it all."

Damien chuckled. "You just couldn't resist researching into me." He rolled his eyes. "Then you know why Blondie has to die. You really think I'd let the _other _scenario happen?"

"I think a part of you wants it."

"You overestimate me so much." He stood up. "There are no other parts to me." He pulled Pip up too and held him close by the collar, staring down at him. "Remember. Mouth. Shut." He smirked. "Unless you want to do something useful with it."

Pip shook slightly. Damien could see this was all too familiar to him. "Get out."

"I want to stay and play..."

Pip struggled. "No, p-please, out."

Damien sighed. "Fine if you'd just be whining the whole time." He let go of Pip and, with a cold sneer, put the cigarette out on his arm. "I want to play with someone else anyway."

* * *

Gregory smiled at Christophe as they approached Pip's house. He'd made an effort - with such a smooth face - and it made him happy. It had also made Christophe happy with what Gregory had done for him in the bathroom up against the counter, quick but very effective by the sound of Christophe's groans.

He gasped and almost turned around again when he saw who was walking their way. Suddenly he felt very conscious that Christophe would see any interaction he had with Damien, and though he had nothing to hide, it felt like he did.

"Hello, Blondie." Damien locked eyes with Gregory. Gregory felt anger immediately fill him. It flooded in like he knew it would, seeing this self-important, egotistical asshole again, building from a whole night of watching the clock and physically forcing himself not to go to the bar and fall into his trap. He wanted to demand exactly what Damien's business was visiting Pip, especially at the same time as them. Could such thing be a coincidence or was Damien watching his moves?

"Damien," he replied, keeping the eye contact.

Damien smirked. "It's always a pleasure."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same."

"That's a pity," purred Damien. Christophe quickly pushed in front of Gregory then and stared up into Damien's eyes.

"Weren't you leaving? I think you were."

"Mmmm, but not before I'm done talking to my Blondie. Run on inside." Gregory could see Christophe almost screaming with rage at that, and he calmly pulled on Christophe's fist to stop it finding a place in Damien's face. He was more than happy for Damien to get hurt but _he_ wanted to be the one to do it.

"Tophe, he's really not worth it."

"You're not _'is_ Blondie!" yelled Christophe. "Stay away." Damien raised his eyebrow and laughed patronizingly, as if Christophe were a little kid throwing a temper tantrum over not wanting to share his favourite toy. He turned back to Gregory, pretending Christophe wasn't there.

"I don't think you want me to stay away. I think you want to get to know me better."

"I think you're mad."

Damien smirked. "Yes, definitely." He pushed Christophe out the way with a sudden force that sent the Frenchman hurtling to the ground. In the same smooth move he slipped a card in Gregory's pocket and whispered gruffly in his ear. "I was very disappointed that you never showed up for our date. Meet me tomorrow night. I promise I'll be worth your time." Gregory felt his breath hitch as along with Damien's somewhat sexual words, he felt the man place a light kiss on his jaw.

Gregory shivered and held his cheek, feeling colour flush his face. And he knew, and he worried, that not all the blush in his cheeks was there out of anger. "We never had a date."

"No?" Damien drew his head away, still wearing that smirk. "See you soon." He walked past Gregory and past where Christophe had pushed himself up, walking down the road arrogantly slowly and then turning the corner. Gregory watched the whole way.

"Did he just kiss you?" growled Christophe, checking the chocolates he was carrying weren't squashed.

Gregory gritted his teeth and brushed a hand down Christophe to get rid of the dirt and check he was okay. "Let's just go inside."

* * *

Gregory could hardly keep his mind on the conversations. He'd kept his act, greeting Pip, thanking him for the wine, asking him how he was, hearing about his work (at the library) and telling him about theirs. They'd talked about other people in the town and mentioned Wendy. Pip had informed them about the arrival of Jack; Wendy was so excited at first, and then she seemed to lose something inside of her, becoming less confident, less demanding.

"I was so worried about her. It was like she only lived for him. She hardly talked to anyone. It was a relief when she started talking to Stan again."

"Stan?"

"Yes. I saw them together, just talking, rebuilding their friendship she told me. She seemed so happy with it. She made me promise not to tell Jack, not that I'd have any intention of doing that. He's horrible. He once threatened me because I was getting too close."

The conversation turned to other things soon after. When Pip and Christophe got onto the subject of gardening and starting an indoor herb garden, Gregory realised he couldn't take it any longer. He stood up.

"Will you excuse me? I'd like to use the bathroom."

Pip smiled. "Of course. It's just down there," he motioned.

"Thank you."

He turned back to Christophe. "So are you going to start one?"

Gregory hummed absently and left the room, walking towards the bathroom. He shut himself in and locked the door, flipping the toilet lid down so he could sit on it as a chair. He ran a hand through his hair at even considering looking at the card and not ripping it and flushing it. He brushed his hand over his cheek and blushed, then pulled the card from his pocket.

* * *

Damien stared with a blank expression at the men who were standing before him. They'd met at an unnameable location, somewhere unimportant. Only walls and bad smells were around them. If Damien had been paying proper attention he may have read the writing on a wall, warning him, them, anyone; but he didn't.

"You kill him and you get your money. It's as simple as that."

"You're paying all three of us? Aint that stupid? Wouldn't one be enough to kill that fag?" one man replied. His name was Jack, and Damien had acquired information from eavesdropping in the bar the previous night that told him Jack didn't much like Gregory.

Damien scoffed at the idea of Gregory being easy to kill; that was definitely not the case. Gregory was something strong and special. Of course, he didn't want to tell Jack that. Them having second thoughts would lead to him having them, and he had to push all that out of his mind.

**'You want him dead. You want him dead.'**

And his father seeing that another human could do it would show him how Gregory was never anything to worry about.

"Look, you're all getting paid, so just shut up and do it."

Jack and his two friends - hardly worth naming because they were unimportant mortals who would probably end up dead whatever the outcome - grinned. "Absolutely."

"And make it quick."

"What? We don't get to play around a little?" Jack looked slightly put out. "Scare him? Hit him a bit? Where's the fun in doing in quickly?"

Damien glared, letting red flicker into his eyes. Three men trying to control the terror they were feeling stared back and nodded slowly - they would make it quick.

"So how do we know he'll be there?"

Damien grinned and motioned to Mark who was standing a little way behind him, looking nervously down at the floor. "Mark here has been following him. He saw him leave his apartment not long ago and sit in the bar. I know that if Blondie is out of the apartment then he won't be able to resist going the whole way and meeting me." He smirked. "You know what they say about curiosity, but it's not just cats who end up dead."

* * *

Gregory held his glass tightly in his hands, a glass that had only barely contained gin before the liquid had run desperately down his throat. There was a man at the other end of the bar. The reek of beer was prominent in the air and drunkenness was evident from one look at him. Gregory soon learned that this look had been unwanted when the man glared and grumbled, "What'cha lookin' at, faggot?"

Gregory sighed and turned away from the man - he was not in the mood to start such a trivial fight. If he was going to start a fight, it would have to be more interesting than a drunken brawl in a bar. And why could everyone always work out he was gay just by looking at him? What was it about him?

_Hair, clothes, shoes, attitude... _

How was he even able to have gay shoes?

Gregory knew exactly what he wanted - something he knew he shouldn't, something he'd have a horrendous time explaining if Christophe found out. It was wrong - he knew it. But denying himself twice was impossible when there were questions to be answered. Damien was dangerous but danger didn't scare him. It almost felt like an unexplainable pull but Gregory _had_ to see him.

What Damien put in his pocket was a business card for a bar in Denver. Damien had written across it in cursive handwriting: '_Don't stand me up this time.' _Gregory had run his finger along the writing and sighed. And then he'd run his finger over the writing five more times before he got to this moment.

It wasn't a particularly pleasant area of Denver that Damien had arranged to meet. Gregory knew people were bound to be keeping an eye for guns. He also knew that Damien would. And Gregory didn't want Damien to get the impression that he appeared a threat who needed defending from. No, Gregory was to give the impression that he wasn't scared. His rapier was also too obvious, so he took a knife; it would work if he needed it.

He just needed one more thing to actually get to Denver...

A drunken call to the barmaid: "Hey, doll face, can I have another of these... beers."

Bingo.

Gregory slid off his stool and slipped his coat on. He looked across at the man on the other end of the bar, busy leering forwards and harassing the bar staff. He made a show of tripping over his own stool and as he stumbled across the floor, fell into the man, grabbing his jacket to avoid hitting his head.

The man reeled back in horror. "Watch it, fag."

Gregory stumbled up, forcing an embarrassed flush to his face. "Ever so sorry." He laughed awkwardly. "Tripped."

"Sure you did." Gregory could almost hear the _'God damn fags horny for all men!'_ running through his head.

Gregory didn't care. He swiftly left the bar. He had what he wanted; he had the man's keys. Next was driving to Denver. Maybe the man would have a car left when he was done, maybe he wouldn't.

That all depended on how nicely Damien was prepared to play.


	6. Chapter Six

_A/N: Don't drink and drive. In fact, don't do anything Gregory does in this chapter... or at all really._

_And please go easy on me! I don't really do fight scenes._

* * *

Gregory parked the car behind another in a dark, nameless location. No other people seemed to be around and luckily he hadn't been followed or tracked by any police on the lookout. (This was probably because the man in the bar hadn't even noticed his car was missing yet.) He left the keys in the engine (because he didn't want to be tied down to it) and hoped it would still be there when he got back.

He tightened his coat and put his gloved hands in his pockets as he walked towards the bar Damien had told him. It was a cold night, with barely any light to trick the mind into feeling warmer. There were no stars, and though the moon was full, it seemed much dimmer, like a fading lightbulb that needed to be replaced. Gregory was thinking over whether this was possible when he heard a familiar voice, and it was not the type of familiar you wanted.

"Look who's out all alone."

He turned his head to the source of the voice and frowned - Jack and two other guys, smirking and looking uninvitingly big. The feeling of being outnumbered and somehow threatened immediately fell over him. He turned away again and decided to continue heading for the bar because he wasn't that far away.

"Well that's rude! Ignoring people!" Jack's voice grew nearer.

Gregory took a deep breath and stopped walking. "Jack."

"Gregory, right?" Jack's eyes feel over Gregory as he walked around to stand in front of him, cutting off his path. "Wendy's ex..."

One of the other men - who Gregory noticed were standing either side of him - snickered. "Right. He doesn't look like he's seen a female body part in his life."

"Probably hasn't, Ryan. I bet Wendy never let you anywhere near her, huh, pretty boy?"

Wendy actually had, and Gregory - having had rather a lot of drink - managed to do at least something with it, though he'd never slept with a girl after that, and hardly had then. "I can't see why she lets you now," he said calmly. "Unless of course, she doesn't..."

"That's nothing to do with you, fag."

"Then we're agreed." Gregory attempted to push past him but found he couldn't.

"Where you going? We're not done talking."

"We are."

"_I_ say when we're done." Jack smirked. "And we've only just begun. Come, let's talk. Tell me what's on your mind."

"I'm wondering what Wendy possibly saw in you." Gregory casually took a small step to the right, sensing how close the man on his left had become. But then, the man on his right was also closing the gap, smirking. Something felt deadly wrong.

"It always happens with the controlling bitches," replied Jack. "They're secretly crying out to be dominated. Wendy was so easy. All her past boyfriends were pathetic."

"You should _never_ fuck with Wendy Testaburger like that." Gregory grit his teeth. He was not the type of person to show any worry that he was perhaps outnumbered. They all knew this was more than a conversation.

"You're in no position to do anything about it." Jack raised his eyebrow.

That was when Gregory felt a hand grab his left arm. Almost in the same second, a reaction that came almost as naturally as breathing, he flipped his arm up and jammed his elbow into the person holding him (Ryan). He swung his other arm around and slammed a fist into the Ryan's face. Ryan fell back in shock. Clearly, they hadn't been expecting Gregory to have much strength or skill. Gregory always loved these few moments of shock where men would stare at him and realise what they were up against - not the gay angel he looked. These moments were also what Gregory relied on to get the upper-hand.

He knew he was outnumbered, and space was essential, so he moved to the left, taking advantage of Ryan's bleeding nose and weak defences. A perfect move would have been to slam his head against the wall and finish him, but there was no time because another hand grabbed his arm and wheeled him back around.

"A smart idea would be to stop trying to fight," growled Jack. "You don't know what you're doing."

Gregory's mind went through its usual processes in less than a second. Jack... talking... distraction... guy behind him? He kicked his leg back and heard a grunt. With a burst of strength Jack obviously still wasn't predicting, he swung him around to collide with the man behind him. It didn't do much, but they both fell over, tangling on the ground. This allowed Gregory to pull his knife out, and with barely any thought, drive it into the shoulder of the man still startled from his first attack.

Ryan gasped and stumbled back. "The fuck!"

Gregory shoved him against the alley wall with a cold glare. It was a deadly move and he knew it, but murder was starting to look like the only way. Ryan screamed as the force of the blow sent the knife further into his back. "May God have pity on you," muttered Gregory.

He bent down and searched for the gun in the Ryan's belt, but there wasn't one there. He cursed and started running. The action with the dying man had taken place in barely more than four seconds. These were the four seconds his other two opponents lay, and began to scrabble up from the ground. Gregory was sure he could get them but not if they'd pulled their guns out.

If these men had guns...

He glanced over his shoulder and saw them chasing him, but not reaching for their belts. Maybe they didn't have them. After all, they had seemed to just randomly turn on him after he bumped into them. What reason was there for them to be carrying guns unless this meeting was planned?

It almost felt planned that Jack wanted to kill him, but it was probably just him taking the opportunity when it arose.

Gregory saw he was approaching a wall. He cursed and span around quickly, catching Jack - who was very close to him - in the jaw with a sharp punch. He groaned at a sudden pressure in his eye. He'd been punched of course, by the other man. The worry of dying wasn't what crossed his mind then; it was the worry that it was now obvious what he was doing. Stupid bruise. He screamed in fury and brought a knee up to meet the man's stomach. They were all fighting dirty. He smashed his elbow into the man's temple and watched him collapse on the floor.

Speed was very much on his side.

Jack stared down at them with wide-eyes, and then back at Gregory. "You cunt."

"You're the one who fucked with me."

"I'm going to kill you!"

"I was going to spare you because of Wendy." Gregory dodged a punch aimed for his nose, twisting to the side and taking a step back. "But now I'm going to kill you _for_ Wendy."

Jack took another step forward, dominating their movements. "Stop thinking about Wendy and start thinking about yourself. You're about to die."

Gregory turned and ran, not down the alley as Jack would expect, but up the metal steps to the side of them. They led up in a circle with wide gaps between each one. They were leading to the door of someone's house, or the side of an office... It could have been anything; Gregory had no idea in the light. He took his chance and ran up them, shoes slipping slightly at the wetness due to a rainfall. (He wasn't wearing the usual shoes he had in situations like these. He was wearing stupid fancy leather ones with no grip.) He cursed and hoped his balance and capability with heights would make up for it. At the top he span around and stared at the steps.

Surprise had always been one of his strong points. Hiding and pouncing on the enemy, or manipulating them into thinking he was no threat and then striking. Well-planned operation never went wrong. And if he found himself in a surprise situation, he could often run just long enough to figure out what to do. Christophe was the one with the terrifying strength, almost unbeatable power in his muscles to defeat the enemy. Gregory was better with a gun or sword. (He was so skilled with a rapier that he could use it to untie his shoelaces.)

But the situation called for fighting and he had to defeat the taller and heavier man.

Jack ran up with a murderous face, thinking fast enough to avoid Gregory's kick. He growled and lunged forward, hands outstretching, his whole body following through with the actions. Gregory leaped down, ripping his coat - and it had been a nice one too - on the sharp metal of the railing, but successfully avoiding the attack. Jack hit the railings with a loud clang and a curse. They must have been extremely sturdy for the pressure made him bounce back a little.

Gregory attempted to push himself back up, but his shoes skidded. He felt Jack's hand on his back, yanking his coat and swinging him hard against the same railings he'd just slammed into. He struggled, but Jack had him held too tightly, pushed against the cold metal.

He stared down into the darkness bellow him.

"You see? You're not strong enough to beat me," sneered Jack.

Gregory kicked back desperately. He tried to think over the situation but saw no way out. "Brute force is not strength."

"Pretty sure it is." Jack kneed Gregory in the back and pushed his head forward. "Looks like a long way down for you, huh? I can't see you surviving that fall..."

Gregory couldn't see it happening either. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Damien watched everything. The lack of fear in Gregory had been disappointing at first but it soon added much more to the entertainment. To watch him fight was very interesting, and made Damien glad he'd hired three people, not just one. It actually looked like he should have hired more - Gregory had taken care of the first two very fast.

Damien was happily cheering Jack on in his head, watching with coldness, that dark side of him ruling, until Jack started winning.

With the very real prospect of Gregory actually dying, something, some tiny light inside of him burst out and fucked up his whole plan. It was with shock at his own actions and a terrified expression on his face that he raised his arm and secured Jack's failure, saving the life he had planned to end.

* * *

Gregory heard a gasping from behind him and a sudden yank backwards rather than push forwards. With a grunt he landed on his back. He realised Jack must have fallen and took what he saw as his only chance, elbowing Jack harshly and rolling off him. Hands grabbed for him but he avoided them, getting his hold on Jack instead. He half-pulled the man up, whilst pushing him nearer the rails.

With as much force as he could summon, further power found from coming back from almost being dead, he shoved Jack into the rail. The rail he was convinced completely solid, broke. One second Jack was there and the, next, blackness, the sound of screaming and then a clank and a thud with the hit of the ground.

Gregory let out a long breath and stood up.

He walked down the steps calmly but hastily; first to retrieve his knife, wiping the blood off onto the man's shirt, and next to where Jack had landed, on his back, a pool of dark blood leaking from the back of his head. He bent down over the man, putting a gloved hand to his neck to feel for a pulse. He felt none. Dead on impact of the ground.

No one had seen him, he was wearing gloves, and there was no evidence or motive to link him to them. He was good to go. He walked away feeling absolutely nothing. Gregory was usually able to throw fights out of his mind straight away, often because they were just a small part of a bigger operation, but he was concerned that without the railing faulting he could have been in quite big trouble.

The railings hadn't been rusty or old, they looked new if anything, less than a year put there. Gregory observed more closely, checking for any screw that may have come lose, or a jagged end that may have shattered off. He found none. Instead he was baffled by two impossibly and perfectly straight cuts running down either side. They can't have been previously there because Jack had crashed against the railing, he'd been held against the railing, and it had been secure.

It was as if the section of railing had simply detached itself. It wasn't possible and yet it was right in front of him.

And so was something, or rather somebody else, looking extremely angry. The blackness in their eyes was startling. They looked empty, void of emotion, almost not human. Gregory was sure that they had previously been more of a reddy-brown; perhaps it was the darkening light.

"Damien, what the hell are you doing here?!" Gregory jumped up, glancing at Jack's body again.

Damien could feel an animistic snarl form on his lips, one that should have told Gregory to walk away. It was the barely human snarl of feared predator, and anyone with sense would leave. He was unbelievably angry, not only because he'd saved Gregory's life, but because he was still saving Gregory's life by not killing him then. He felt angry because he wanted to pin Gregory against the wall and kiss him fiercely, and hold his fucking perfect body, stroke that angelic face and keep it all for himself.

It was a moment where he didn't know what he was going to do.

Over the years, the good and evil sides of Damien had grown further apart. They did this in two ways. The first way was that, rather than both being together to make an informed, conscious decision as seen in humans, they did not work in harmony. When the good side was talking, it showed him emotions, care, that he could save lives rather than take them. When the evil side was talking, it reminded him he could do anything and feel nothing - try to kill Gregory, say cruel things, threaten people, give such horrific glares devoid of care. As these sides had become separate, they had also intensified. Now guilt would be an almost unbearable torment, love would almost kill his heart, and when he slipped to the dark side, he could be an Antichrist fit for the darkest horror film.

The voices were completely him; they merely said what he was thinking.

Satan had shown how to project his subconscious into voices that only he could hear. His father had hoped that if they were talking to him from what felt like outside his mind rather than it feeling like he was doing the thinking within, he'd find it easier to ignore the good one and just listen to what the evil one had to say.

It didn't work. More than often Damien found it harder to disagree with the points good was making than evil. He liked his good side; it was what he wished he could be all the time but knew he never could. Other times though he wished the good would hurry up and leave (like it had to do soon), for then he would feel no guilt or remorse for the actions he did, and then it would be very easy to kill Gregory Rose.

Good was running out of time before evil controlled Damien forever, and in fear and desperation, it was stopping Damien completing his task.

"I asked you here."

"What?" snapped Gregory, then he paused, remembering. "Oh yes, you did."

Damien glanced down at the new additions to the underworld. "Inside. I did not ask you here so you could murder people."

"I - they - Oh fuck off!" Gregory turned on his heel to walk away. Damien's hand snapped out and grabbed Gregory's wrist. He tried to control his temperature. He span Gregory around to stare into his blue eyes.

"We're getting a drink."

Gregory yanked his arm away. "We are not!"

"Then why did you come?" growled Damien.

"I..." Gregory frowned as he once again had nothing to say. He licked his lips. "And what happens when we get a drink?"

"We talk."

"We can talk here," Gregory said firmly. "I don't trust right now that you won't spike my drink or pull some other trick. And look at the state of me!" he motioned to his blood-stained and ripped clothes and what he assumed was a black-eye forming. "After what's just happened, I want to go back to South Park."

Gregory was shocked at his own feelings; that he actually _wanted_ to be in South Park.

"Fine then, I'll make it quick; I want you to stay away from me. Don't try to argue, just... stay away." The tone was menacing but somewhat desperate. Gregory could detect almost a pleading, confused and repressed as it was.

"But you keep approaching me and _you_ invited me here!"

"Yes, and_ I_ tried to kill you before, so why the hell did you come? Are you stupid?"

"What the fuck is your problem? That's what I want to know. _That's_ why I came."

"You're my problem, and I hate you for it. You haven't done anything but you are doing so much, and I don't know whether you mean to or not. Stay away from me if you know what's best." After curiously staring over his shoulder for a few moments looking distressed, Damien added, "And, try and stay out of other trouble too."

The way Damien looked over his shoulder confused Gregory. He narrowed his eyes. "I love trouble. You saw me kill those men."

"Not necessarily... I saw those men die."

Gregory was confused at that comment. Was that Damien's way of saying he wasn't going to tell anyone or was it something else? "They were going to kill me." He couldn't be sure of that fact but he did recognise the murderous glint in Jack's eyes.

Damien stared forward and nodded slowly. His actions were curious, like he was listening to some invisible person who was telling him what to say. When his eyes met Gregory's again they were raging with anger and cruelty, all distress vanished. "It's just a shame they didn't do it very successfully." Then he gasped at his own words and grabbed his hair with a hand in distress.

"Fuck you," spat Gregory at that comment. "I knew you wanted me dead."

"What gave it away? The fact I tried to kill you?"

"That's why you didn't help me then? Just stood there in the shadows and watched did you?"

Damien stared unblinkingly into Gregory's eyes as to the blond's confusion the anger disappeared and the distress returned. "No," he replied in a flat, lifeless voice. Damien walked away from him, leaving the alley and never turning back.

'No.' What the fuck did 'no' mean? If Damien had wanted to see Gregory killed by those men then it made no sense that not helping wouldn't have been a reason for that. Did 'no' in that case mean that Damien had done something? How could he have done when he was nowhere to be seen and only made his presence known after the fighting was finished?

And why the hell hadn't Damien just killed him right then, with the perfect set-up and opportunity?

Gregory cursed and stared up at sky, as if convinced it would hold some of the answers to his questions. Perhaps God could give him some fucking answers. Suddenly the very thought of being told to stay away made him change his mind about leaving South Park. There was something about the peculiar behaviour of the black-haired man that just screamed out to be investigated. Gregory resolved that he was going to find out exactly what the man's problem was. Damien had wanted him dead that night and Gregory needed to find out exactly what he was supposed to have done wrong.

He really didn't have a clue.

* * *

Christophe gasped when he saw the state of his friend, who had thrown his coat and gloves on the floor, kicked his shoes against the wall and was now walking blood-stained towards the bathroom. "What ze fuck happened to you?"

"Fight." Gregory pushed past Christophe, in want of a mirror. He frowned when he saw that his eye was a black-purple colour, sore and slightly swollen. He sighed. _Just perfect_. He splashed some water onto his face.

Christophe grabbed his wrists and span him round. "Why were you fighting?" He looked into his eyes with concern.

"Some guys, calling me a fag, thinking they could fuck with me." This was close enough the truth. Gregory just wanted to avoid any questioning that could lead to the mention of Damien. He moved his wrists so they were holding hands instead. "I'm fine."

"How many?!"

Gregory clucked his tongue. "Three. And I have a feeling they'll never mess with me again."

"But you don't get eento fights!"

"I made an exception." He held his hand to Christophe's mouth to silence him. "Think of the amount of times you've got into stupid fights. It didn't mean anything."

Christophe sighed and nodded. "I hate to see you hurt."

"I know."

"More zan anything." He stared at Gregory sadly before pulling him into a hug. "Please be careful."

Gregory sensed the seriousness in the air and hugged Christophe back tightly, closing his eyes. He couldn't promise to be careful, because that would be a lie. He would never take steps to being careful if it meant he had to stop doing things, and it was obvious they both knew that.

"I'm going to bed," he whispered. "You should too."

"Oui."

"What were you doing up so late anyway?"

"I was waiting for you and watching a movie... a... western..." Christophe cringed and then laughed. "I love horses."

Gregory chuckled softly. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

* * *

**Next time:**

Gregory opens the door to those empty black eyes. They look annoyed, like the man they belong to doesn't want to be there. But they also look desperate... hungry. It's Damien and everything around him has fallen into shadow. All Gregory can see is the pale illuminating skin on his face. He doesn't close the door but stays staring.

Damien pushes him backwards, stepping across the line into his apartment. Gregory doesn't stop him, nor does he stop the kiss that finds its way to his lips. He merely kisses back and pulls on Damien's shirt, groaning.


	7. Chapter Seven

Gregory opens the door to those empty black eyes. They look annoyed, like the man they belong to doesn't want to be there, but they also look desperate... hungry. It's Damien and everything around him has fallen into shadow. All Gregory can see is the pale illuminating skin on his face. He doesn't close the door but stays staring.

Damien pushes him backwards, stepping across the line into his apartment. Gregory doesn't stop him, nor does he stop the kiss that finds its way to his lips. He merely kisses back and pulls on Damien's shirt, groaning.

Damien takes control, lifting Gregory up by the hips effortlessly, and then laying him down on a bed that appears in the centre of the room. The buttons on his shirt pop open one by one, until the material seems to melt away from his torso. Damien's shirt has disappeared too and he pulls open Gregory's trousers.

Gregory groans and kicks out his legs, letting Damien remove everything until it's all gone and they're both naked with Damien grinding down on top of him. No words. They need no words. They only groan and pull closer to each other.

Gregory's skin is glistening with sweat. He can feel Damien sucking at it, his tongue hot and powerful, moving everywhere, until almost every inch of Gregory is wet in some way. Gregory runs his hands over Damien's back the whole time this is happening, squeezing and caressing his ass but never quite managing to get his fingers where he wants them to go. His hands keep slipping back up to Damien's shoulders.

As hard as he tries, he can't grip keep his hands on Damien's ass, and their actions won't progress. Damien just keeps attacking his skin, kissing turning to sucking turning to biting. It hurts but it feels so good. Gregory knows he'll be covered in bruises.

It keeps getting hotter and hotter and it won't stop. There's no end, just this uncontrollable pleasure and pain which consumes all his senses, threatens his heart may collapse from how fast it's beating, that he may run out of breath in any kiss.

Damien's killing him.

* * *

Gregory shot awake and screamed, throwing the duvet from him. His forehead and chest were dripping with sweat and his hair clung to his face. He stared at his alarm clock - 6:00. He groaned and lay down again, staring at his ceiling. He'd had barely any hours sleep that night, and in finally managing to get to sleep he'd had _that_ dream.

He tried to ignore it, not read into it, pretend he couldn't feel the aching in his hard dick...

He heard the door open and for some stupid, unexplainable reason, hoped it was Damien. It wasn't of course; it was Christophe.

Christophe glanced around the room in panic. "What's wrong? I 'eard a scream?" He walked over to Gregory and sat down on the bed. Gregory flinched. "Are you alright? You're sweating. You're-" He paused as his eyes drifted to Gregory's hard-on. He stared for a few seconds and then burst out laughing. "What? Deed you 'av a sexual dream and zen get scared by eet?"

Gregory blushed and nudged Christophe with his foot. "Get out." He did not want Christophe's input on this moment.

"Oh you deed!" Christophe grinned in Gregory's face.

"_Out_."

"Do you not want me to sort eet out for you?" Christophe purred, running his hand up Gregory's leg and letting it reach his thigh. "You know I'm very good..."

"N-No, I can do it myself. Shoo." He was only saying no because of who in his mind had caused the boner to occur. Having Tophe touching it would have just been too weird.

Christophe sighed and stood up. "Okay zen eef you're going to be all embarrassed and beetchy about eet. Eet's a shame zough..." He laughed again as he left Gregory's room and closed the door behind him.

Gregory immediately reached out and under his elastic waistband for his still-throbbing erection. He wondered how it hadn't gone down at all since he'd woken up, but as he started pumping he knew it was because he was thinking of Damien. It was because as he began to move his hand rhythmically up and down, all he saw were Damien's eyes and the way they had burned into him in his dream. He could almost taste his skin, breathe his scent. It was as if Damien's arms and body were closing down on him.

He threw his head back into the pillow and groaned.

He'd probably feel guilty about it later but all guilt was nowhere to be found as he moved his hand faster and groaned louder, imagining that it was Damien's hand closing around him, Damien's hot panting mixing with his own. His smooth voice gruffly whispering into his ears.

_"Is this a thrill for you, Blondie? I want to fuck you hard." _

Gregory wanted to scream back that he wanted Damien to. He wanted to scream Damien's name and have this all be real, not just him alone with his twisted thoughts, masturbating over the dangerous manwho watched him fight in the shadows, not caring that he was moments away from death; the man he wanted to hate passionately for all he had done but knew his feelings were so much more complex.

This man, and everything that was wrong with him, was what made Gregory come with a choked groan of ecstasy.

Christophe was standing by the bathroom door with a wide grin on his face when Gregory emerged from his bedroom. His eyes followed Gregory as he was pushed out of the way.

"Does zat feel better, mon ami?"

Gregory sighed and rolled his eyes. "Much."

"Your groans were _very_ loud and so urgent..." Gregory washed his hands and tried to block Christophe out. He always got so perverted over sexual matters, not at all afraid to discuss them. Gregory really didn't want to hear it. "Zat's eet... wash away ze sin."

"Shut up, Tophe." Gregory glanced over his shoulder. "It's really not a big deal."

"Catching you wiz a boner over something? Yes, eet ees. I 'ardly ever get ze chance to tease you." Christophe stepped closer to Gregory and brushed a hand along his waist. "Tell me, what were you dreaming about?"

"I... I can't remember."

"Sure. Whatever you say." Christophe wrapped his arms around Gregory's waist and ran a kiss along his jaw. This action wouldn't have usually bothered Gregory in the slightest if it hadn't been for Damien's similar behaviour only a couple of days before. He felt his face heating up and hastily pushed Christophe away.

"I need the toilet." He looked down and pushed his friend from the room. Luckily he was commanding enough to pull this off without Christophe getting suspicion. The Frenchman just laughed from the other side of the wood.

"D'accord. I'll make breakfast so don't be too long." He sniggered. "And try to control yourself from jacking off again."

* * *

It was much later in the uneventful day that Gregory was watching the news.

_"A volcano erupted in Southern Japan today, sending rocks up to five kilometres in the air, and lava down its slopes. Locals also reported loud thunder and a heavy ash cloud. Thousands of people have had to evacuate the area and are seeking refuge at an emergency shelter nearby. Experts are in a state of confusion by the occurrence as the volcano was believed to be extinct. They do not know when the eruption will stop. Geologist S. Chaplin had this to say: 'It's all wrong. This is not possible. I see no evidence to suggest that it's even cooling. We cannot explain the impossibility of this situation. I'm sorry. This is all wrong.'" _The news reporter looked terrified herself at reading this._ "People around the world are calling it an act of God, claiming he is angry." _She stared for a few moments blankly at the camera.

Christophe grunted, muttering "Zat faggot," under his breath. Gregory sighed, only half-concentrating on the depressing news and half-wondering what he could cook to curb his hunger. They never reported happy things, just more natural disasters that seemed to be occurring more frequently. It wasn't long since an earthquake struck that area of Japan. The next report regained his interest though.

_"In local news South Park resident Jack Mendez was found dead last night in an alleyway in Denver. Two other men by the names of Ryan Cox and Daniel Fisher were also found dead at the scene. The victims appear to have suffered a combination of lethal blows to the head and stab wounds. There were no eye-witnesses to the crime and Police are struggling to find a lead."_

Gregory smirked. He wondered how long it had taken people to find them. Had they been found in the night, or had they hopefully been left for a while? Christophe looked over from the armchair and connected eyes with his friend. Gregory tried to fake a straight face and innocence, but it was too late, he'd been busted.

"Zat fight you had last night..." Christophe raised an eyebrow. "Where were you between ze hours of ten and two?"

Gregory smacked his lips together. "Oops."

Christophe rolled his eyes. "I'll probably 'av to dig zeir graves."

"Well there you go, I'm giving you work." Gregory smiled cheerily at Christophe, who raised his eyebrows, expecting more of an explanation. "They were trying to kill me!"

Christophe shot up then, his idea of what had taken place changed. He clenched his fist and moved to sit beside Gregory. "Kill you?"

"Jack was Wendy's guy. He had some grudge against me about dating her."

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "Zat eesn't a reason to keel you zough ees eet?" He looked worried, beginning to zone out, concentration passed over his face. He was surely weighing up something. After a minute of silence Christophe added, "You should probably offer your sympathies to Wendy, see eef she needs anything..."

"There's an idea, Tophe," started Gregory sarcastically. "Hey, Wendy sorry to hear your boyfriend died, even though he was an absolute prick and tried to take my life. Oh yeah, and one more thing, I'm the one that killed him. Stop crying. Would you like a cup of tea?"

Christophe sighed. "Surely you could act like you cared. You're very good at faking emotions like zat."

Gregory folded his arms defiantly. "Well maybe I don't want to."

"Fine, I'll do eet for ze both of us."

"Why do you care so much?" It wasn't like Christophe to think of matters like that. It was always Gregory's job to remember the personal thing. He was the one who always prodded Christophe into acting politely in public and obeying the basic social norms. The Frenchman had a tendency to avoid them.

"I just think we should keep up appearances."

"You're right, have fun with Wendy then." And with that Gregory stalked into his room and slammed his door.

Christophe stared after him, pulling a cigarette from his top pocket and lighting it up. He was concerned. There was something really not right with Gregory. He didn't think it would be purely from having killed the previous night. Gregory was so used to it that his heart rate hardly rose after a gunshot anymore. He was concerned at exactly what, or rather, who Gregory could have met. He worried; Gregory really didn't know what to expect. He grunted, cursing under his breath and walked towards the kitchen deciding he'd make something like omelettes or pancakes for the both of them.

* * *

_...People around the world are calling it an act of God, claiming he is angry._

Why did he get all the credit?

_In local news South Park resident Jack Mendez was found dead last night in an alleyway in Denver..._

Damien frowned and turned off the television. He stared at it blankly for a long time after.

* * *

After dinner had been eaten and Gregory and Christophe had broken their tension with food and a forced hug by the Frenchman (who knew that Gregory appreciated the physical contact even if he was in too much of a mood to accept it), Gregory proclaimed that he was leaving for a short walk. Christophe didn't argue. Gregory wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve but it had to be better than sitting around and doing nothing. When the curious side of him itched he just had to scratch it and if the itch was in an awkward position then he wasn't scared to scratch it with his sword. He'd left his sword still hung up in his bedroom though; Christophe wasn't a fool, he was sure to check.

Gregory wasn't a fool either. He knew too well that tonight was only observation. He didn't even know where Damien lived; the night was about finding that out.

Hacking into the town's records proved useless. Damien was on no files. There was no information about newly bought houses. There were no banking information or police records. There was nothing. Gregory was stumped; there was no way of finding his address the fast way. So he was going to spy through windows, pose as a door-to-door salesman on the houses he couldn't spy people in, or whatever took his fancy when he saw who opened the door and hope that either he could gain information from residents or that perhaps one of them would be Damien... It wasn't the usual type of plan he came up with, but it was the only one he had.

Most of the houses were easy enough to see into. He saw families watching TV, arguing, playing games, all the typical stuff he never had. He saw couples cuddled up, kissing or worse. He observed as an elderly couple gathered provisions to take upstairs, helping each other to bed. He smiled and wondered if he'd ever grow old with anyone special. Would he ever find someone or would it always be him and Christophe and their odd friendship? Though Christophe was bound to fall in love with someone at some point. Another name came into his head but he curbed it instantly; nothing good would come from think it.

He'd knocked on some of the doors and most people had shut the door on his almost instantly when they saw what they perceived as a salesman. That was fine; he didn't want to waste time talking. One woman had kept him talking a while because she was obviously completely struck with his looks and he'd refrained from being blunt with her, as Christophe had said, he needed to keep up appearances and not make anymore enemies.

There was one house he knocked on that changed everything. "Hello, I'm..." Gregory stopped as he saw the man who had opened the door. "Oh, Stanley." So he'd inadvertently discovered Stan's house. It must have been his own house too, because Gregory was in the area of cheaper houses by that point, the ones that even young people could afford having. He guessed that's why he'd never seen Stan around the apartment complex.

"Gregory?" Stan glanced his eyes down to the bag Gregory held in front of him and then up to Gregory's black-eye. "What do you want?"

"Wrong house," Gregory said, narrowing his eyes. He was not in the mood to deal with the asshole. He turned to walk away without another word.

"What house were you looking for?" asked Stan. Gregory halted and turned back around. "I don't want you running around terrorizing the neighbourhood with whatever's in that bag." He connected eyes with Gregory knowingly. "We don't want any more deaths do we?"

Gregory's poker face gave nothing away but inside his head he was screaming. "Meaning?"

Stan crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. Gregory hated him even more. Why did this bastard have to be one of only people in South Park who was never scared of him and liked to play at building their hatred for one another? Gregory just wanted to find Damien. "I'm sure you've heard that Wendy's boyfriend was found dead last night in Denver."

"Yes." Gregory smirked cruelly. "I bet you're really happy about it. You have your chance to comfort Wendy through her ordeal; maybe she'll find love with you again?" He wasn't sure where exactly the callous words came from. He didn't appreciate the sneer that had come into his own voice. Starting anything with Stan was not going to help him find Damien.

"Don't turn this on me." Stan leaned forward and whispered, "I saw you steal a car and drive to Denver. And that eye seems like too much of a coincidence."

Well fuck that did it. But what could Stan do anyway? He had no evidence and even if Gregory had been in Denver it didn't mean he'd murdered someone; that wasn't the only reason people went there. Gregory had the strange feeling that Stan wouldn't turn him in anyway. He got the feeling that Stan had hated Jack as much as he had. He hated to admit it but he'd be much happier to see Wendy back with the mechanic in front of him (he'd had a spy on Stan's records when he was searching for Damien) than that bastard. And Wendy was going to need someone to look after her.

Gregory grinned playfully. "Spying on me were you." He leaned forward seductively. "Why is that, Stan? Miss me when I left? Miss my _body?"_

"Fuck you, Gregory."

"Oh, clearly." He looked Stan up and down. "Perhaps I'll take you up on your offer."

Stan scowled. "I'm shutting the door now."

"Wait." Gregory shot his foot out to stop the door closing, causing Stan to growl in annoyance. "I'm expecting someone new to move to South Park, I don't suppose you've had any new neighbours... or neighbours who have moved back?"

Stan sighed and thought for a moment. "Someone's just moved back into the house at the bottom of the street." Stan pointed in the direction. "There was no for sale sign and they didn't have a mover's truck, but the light's on in that house sometimes." He smirked at Gregory. "Don't scare them away." And then he slammed the door shut. Well, he could be a dick, but Marsh was actually helpful for once in his life.

Gregory went down to the bottom house for a quick look. The living room light was on. He could see from far away the black hair and black clothes of Damien. He knew without seeing the face that it was him. He turned for home, pulling his coat tighter around him at the frosty bite in the air. It was late and he needed to get back to the apartment or Christophe was sure to chew his head off about what a 'short walk' was.

* * *

Gregory froze slightly when he walked back in, hung up his coat, kicked off his shoes, and saw Christophe. His body language had already been rigid and he'd felt would up, but now he was also shocked.

Christophe wasn't wearing a top. His taught, defined muscles were on full show and gleaming with light sweat. He must have been doing press ups, abdominal exercises or something. He looked hot. He spied Gregory and smiled, then frowned as Gregory didn't move. "Mon ami, you seem tense."

Gregory stared at Christophe's chest and bit his lip. The sweat on the chest reminded him of his dream too much to be ignored. Could he just allow himself a distraction... just for a little while? After the events of the day, surely he was entitled to a little treat.

"Mmmm."

"Would you like me to put a shirt on?" asked Christophe cautiously. He was used to not worrying about such immaterial things when they were holding up in motels and chasing targets across the country, but in the apartment, with Gregory, he was regaining the importance of proper hygiene and decency.

Gregory's eyes fell down further to his friend's crotch. A glint came to his eye and a slight smile to his lips. He sighed theatrically and trailed his eyes up the chest to gaze into Christophe's eyes. "No, I want you to take your pants off."

Christophe smirked. "Gregory, are you asking me for sex?"

"Are you complaining?" Gregory slipped his fingers into his top fastened buttonhole and slowly undid it. "Or do I have to take you by force?"

To show that he wasn't complaining Christophe shot over to where Gregory was standing and helped him out with quick fingers. Gregory groaned, he wasn't sure why he'd made it happen but it was sure as hell a good distraction.

He grabbed Christophe by the belt and pulled him towards the Frenchman's bedroom, purely because it was the nearest one, and God knows Gregory couldn't walk far. Christophe bent forward, attaching his lips to Gregory's and kissing desperately. He was always the first to initiate the kissing, and though Gregory hated to think on it or admit it, Christophe always seemed more eager to do it.

Gregory pulled Christophe down onto the messy bed, falling on his back and letting Christophe press down on him. He wrapped his legs around Christophe's lower body and groaned, still kissing desperately. He felt the last button on his shirt open and sat up so it could be pulled off him. He helped Christophe dispose of the rest of their clothes until they were very quickly and very desperately naked.

Their lips attached again and skin met, tanned on pale, fiercely muscular on subtly defined. Bodies slid against each other, crotches grinding. Gregory felt Christophe more than he saw him but in his mind they were both already dishevelled; hair ruffled and cheeks flushed.

Christophe panted, grinding against Gregory vigorously, pushing their members together and shuddering from the pleasure of the friction. He gasped and kissed along the blond's shoulder, sucking on the skin which showed the faintness traces of the sweat to come. Gregory ground back, bucking his hips up and running his hands up and down Christophe's back, pulling and holding him closer.

"S-So how are we doing zis?" murmured Christophe between licks of Gregory's skin.

Gregory pulled Christophe's hair up and forced them to link eyes. "I want you to fuck me, and fuck me hard."

Christophe groaned at the words, his eyes glazing with lust. "Really?"

"Yes." Gregory pulled Christophe's mouth back towards his to reinforce this, kissing frantically. All over, his skin felt hot, like he was sweltering in the nonexistent heat. It felt like every inch of his skin was covered in sweat whereas only a little actually was.

Christophe leaned over to his draw to get the supplies he needed. Gregory made this as hard as possible, pulling on Christophe's shoulders and arching his neck up to suck any skin he could find - skin that was getting sticky and only making him more desperate. Christophe chuckled through pleasured groans.

"I need to get ze condom and lube!" he mumbled.

Gregory pulled Christophe away. "N-No." He dug his nails into Christophe's arm. "N-No condom. It f-feels better without." They'd always been careful with other people so he was confident there was no problem and he really didn't want any barriers.

"Okay!" There was an edge of excitement in Christophe's voice. He kissed Gregory again before successfully reaching over to get the lube. "You at least want zis?"

"If you must." Gregory bit his lip. "Yes, actually, of course... It will help you move faster."

Christophe chuckled. "And cause you less pain." He said it like it was a good thing but Gregory wasn't convinced. It was as if he wanted the pain, though he realised that the damage that could cause wasn't worth it.

Gregory lay with his legs open on the bed as he waited for Christophe to re-position himself. He wanted to make himself look as alluring to Christophe as he could, by looking up at him through half-lidded eyes and stroking his chest absently. But it seemed Christophe was already completely aroused and Gregory felt like there was no one his friend would have preferred doing it with, like he drew so much pleasure just from being with Gregory.

Gregory gasped when he felt the head of Christophe's member press against his entrance. He gripped Christophe's shoulders again and nodded, squeezing tight. The pleasure came so reassuringly quickly, in a wave of relief and satisfaction soaking into Gregory's longing. From around his body, areas called for their share of it, pulled the pleasure towards them and intensified it as if everything depended on Gregory feeling in ecstasy. With each movement Christophe made, more parts clawed from the inside and felt their reward.

But it wasn't enough.

"Tophe," Gregory groaned through heavy breaths. "Feels good." He groaned again. "Harder!"

Christophe choked out a groan, perhaps even more desperate than Gregory's and complied by moving his hips faster, and pushing in deeper. In this position, he was hitting Gregory's prostate, delivering thrusts that sent pulses. It felt amazing, but didn't have the raw burning Gregory was desiring - a burning impossible for any mortal to deliver. The desire felt foreign and yet is was there, a yearning planted without warning, too confusing for Gregory to register properly.

"Harder! I want to feel the burn!" He raked at Christophe's skin furiously, knowing it was an impossible order but not caring. Christophe could have been anyone at that moment; it didn't matter. Gregory knew no one could fill the void or complete the request.

"G-Gregory, I can't," gasped Christophe. "I - I'd hurt you too much."

"Urghhh." Gregory grit his teeth and arched against Christophe, taking in the already incredibly rough pace. He groaned and opened his mouth when Christophe's lips pushed another kiss on his. He knew Christophe was going as hard as he could, and that was way more than anyone could ask.

He panted when Christophe's lips drew away and down to his neck. "It feels good! So good." And it did. It felt amazing when he allowed himself to appreciate it rather than pining after pain.

Christophe was a sweaty and gasping mess as he continued his thrusting, and Gregory could feel when the Frenchman was reaching his edge, thrusts becoming and he groaned loudly, opening his mouth to form his words. He knew Christophe loved it when he talked dirty.

"Tophe, yes!" he panted. "I w-want you to come all over me!" He closed his eyes and listened to Christophe's groans, which really were beautiful to listen to.

"Fuck, Gregory!" A few moments later, Christophe withdrew sharply and Gregory could feel the warm come falling over his stomach. He groaned loudly as Christophe's hand wrapped around his length, pumping until Gregory came too, covering himself even more.

"Fuck."

"Mmmm."

Christophe panted and rolled, collapsing onto the bed next to Gregory, the sheets rustling around him. Gregory looked over at him and smiled, also panting. Christophe - with flushed cheeks and ruffled hair so perfect on his head that it almost looked styled so - grinned back and closed his eyes in exhaustion, burying his head into a pillow.

"You can stay 'ere," he muttered. "Just... keep your feet away."

Gregory rolled his eyes and looked down at himself, frowning. "I want to clean up, so I'll just go."

"Nooooo." Christophe moaned and fumbled by his bedside, then to the floor, eventually throwing a shirt at Gregory. Gregory used it to clean himself with and then without a care, threw it to Christophe's already cluttered floor. Christophe stared tiredly at him. "You can put your feet all over me. Stay?"

Gregory nodded. "I'll stay." He was too tired to notice the urgency in Christophe's voice. He settled down next to the Frenchman and closed his eyes, falling to sleep almost instantly in his exhaustion.

"Zat's good, mon amour," whispered Christophe, reaching to stroke a sweat-formed curl on Gregory's forehead, before sighing and closing his eyes.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: Okay. I'm sensing that you all really care about Christophe. :L**

**Warning - What I see as a transition chapter, and slight non-con (dream) but nothing graphic, at the end.**

* * *

Gregory woke up disorientated. He gazed around the room for a few unaware seconds and then recognised his surroundings. The smell of smoke on the bed sheets around him, the shovel stand and rope hook, the year's supply of combat pants on the floor: it all equalled Tophe. He was sure that if he looked under the bed he would find the stuffed giraffe Christophe had cherished as an infant (and still cherished). He sat up and looked down at Tophe, still sleeping heavily, arms stretched out above his head, almost like a baby, one reaching towards but not touching Gregory. He always looked so vulnerable when he was asleep; it was one of the few times Christophe showed vulnerability.

Gregory looked at the alarm clock. It was only five but he knew he stood no chance of getting back to sleep. The thoughts from the previous day that had made him so tense had started to come back. He knew he couldn't simply wake Christophe up for more sex; you could never 'simply' woke Christophe up unless you wanted a fist shoved in your mouth. He looked at the state of some of the combat pants on the floor, blood-stained and dirty, and decided a wash was in order. He left with an armful of them, smiling to himself.

* * *

When Christophe finally emerged from his bedroom later that day - afternoon even - it was without pants. He had chosen to shower (without even being nagged) and get dressed but had found when he got to bottom layers, they were all missing. He looked puzzled.

"Gregory," he said, making eye-contact with the blond and lighting a morning cigarette, "deed you steal my clothes?" He smirked. "Ees zat what you do after sex now? Keep my pants as a memento?"

Gregory sighed and picked up a clean, dry, ironed and neatly folded pile from one of their chairs. "I washed them for you; they were filthy!"

Christophe still looked utterly perplexed. "...Why would you want to?" He took the clothes from Gregory. "Thank you zough, zat saves me a job I would nezer do."

"I'm just trying to get us organised," chimed Gregory. "It's a good opportunity don't you think?"

"I suppose so," muttered Christophe, though the look on his face suggested he was still freaked out. "I 'av to get ready for work."

"Okay, lover," teased Gregory.

Christophe grinned. "I enjoyed eet. You can be so much fun when you want to be."

Gregory raised his eyebrow. "...Thanks?"

"Eet's a good thing, really. I love eet when you bottom."

"Well don't get used to it, because I'm not planning on making a habit of it."

Christophe looked slightly put out. "Oh. Well, I can bottom?"

"I'm talking about sex in general, Tophe."

Christophe sighed and nodded. "Oui. I don't even understand what made you so desperate last night. Usually something big 'as to 'appen for you to get een ze mood."

Gregory just hummed and lied that he didn't know.

"Do you 'av any plans?" continued Christophe.

"No."

Christophe looked Gregory up and down. "Just, stay out of trouble." He walked back towards his room. Gregory stared at his bare ass as he walked away. Damn, it was toned from all the physical exercise he did. Gregory grinned and laughed to himself at the thought, causing Christophe to shoot him a glance of confusion, before slamming his door.

"Stop perving on me!"

* * *

Climbing a tree, swinging from a branch and jumping into an open upstairs window, searching around for clues or signs, looking everywhere he could: these were all things Gregory knew he shouldn't have been doing. He was alone in Damien's house - which had almost been too easy to break into - and carefully combing it for anything out of the ordinary. He expected Damien to have strange things, that it would be messy and cluttered with items he'd have to move and carefully put back. What he found was the bare minimum. Damien almost had nothing.

His kitchen cupboards contained food, his fridge the same. The dining room had a table and two chairs, that looked like they were never used. In his living room was a sofa, two chairs, a TV, a bookcase with assorted classics and a bible (which surprised Gregory who never had him figured as the religious type). Upstairs his bathroom contained soap and toothpaste, and his bedroom had a bed. There was another room but it was completely empty except for a spare bed. Everything was too simple. Like this house wasn't being properly lived in.

Gregory picked up the only item on Damien's otherwise empty desk - an information leaflet. It felt odd he would even have a desk for such a solitary purpose. There were draws, but they were locked and Gregory hadn't been able to pick them. He looked at the leaflet with raised eyebrows: _'How to Tend to a Rose Garden.' _What could Damien possibly want from one of those? Gregory opened it to find lots of small text, no pictures. One part caught his eye because it had been circled. It read:

_The trick to caring for roses is to ensure they have the correct levels of sun and water. Rose gardens set up in the correct area Will thrive. Prune your dead-heads to encourage more flower growth. The best time for pruning is early spring. Roots should be strong. Of All flowers, roses are surprisingly forgiving. Evil they are not if you give them adequate care. When grooming, use sharp clippers. He (the editor) would recommend that. Controls in the type of fertilizer used can have a massive effect. The best have a balance of key chemicals. Rise will your roses, like the morning sun in a still-living world. Of course, fail to follow instructions and they will die. His (the editor's) did. Thorn - don't touch it. _

The instructions struck him as being rather all over the place and not very clear; plus the capitalization of 'Will' and 'All' was troubling him. It was as if there was something else there, some deeper meaning.

He shook his head and put the leaflet back down where he'd found it. No, it had probably fallen out of some magazine or newspaper article. They definitely needed to get better writers.

He looked around the rest of the room and frowned, opening draws where he found black and grey underwear, opening the wardrobe that contained nothing but ordinary clothes - a lot of black, but some blue and green too. He sighed and walked out the bedroom. Nothing unusual, everything open, no locked doors. Absolutely nothing worth investigating.

He walked back onto the landing and then crouched to the floor in shock as the door unlocked and he heard two different voices entering. The first to speak was Damien.

"Tell me, did you see anything?"

The other person was quivering, their speech long past eloquent; though they sounded to have quite a posh voice. "N-no, Master, please... I-I know nothing."

Gregory, realising he hadn't been seen, crawled to peek through the banisters just a crack. The person fell to the ground screaming in pain. Gregory wasn't sure what Damien was doing but it sounded like hell. And why the fuck was someone calling Damien 'Master'? Gregory could tell he was power-hungry - it was in the eyes, the way he held himself - but he didn't think the limits would stretch that far.

"You're lying." Damien's tone was frighteningly cold. "You must have found something about him."

The man gasped. "N-no. H-he doesn't seem to be planning anything, really! I-It's almost like he's t-taking a break b-by coming here."

"That's what he said. But don't you think he could have lied?" Gregory could hear a crunch and another scream. Perhaps the breaking of a bone? Gregory very carefully crawled to where he would have a better view of the scene. He looked down on the living room, attempting to hide himself as best as he could. He could see the back of Damien's head and as predicted, his foot was down on the man's leg. Gregory recognised the man. He looked to be their age. He had brown curly hair and quite a pleasant face, though at that moment red and panicked. He also had fresh burn marks on his skin and looked like he was overheating.

"P-please have mercy!" Mark begged through pained moans. "I-I don't think he knows what you are! L-Like I didn't until recently! He's not a threat. Y-You can be confident in your decision."

_What you are, _thought Gregory in confusion. And what was Damien?

"I need to know that for sure. What has he been doing?"

"W-well h-he talked to Stan Marsh, th-then he came here...but didn't do anything... and then he went back to his place."

"And did you see what he did inside his apartment!? That _is_ where he'd do his planning."

"H-his apartment is on the third floor! How am I supposed to see in?"

Damien growled and hit Mark again. "Useless. And has he done anything today?"

Mark flinched. "W-Well I w-wasn't watching him today b-because I was meeting with you."

Damien shook his head. "Really fucking useless."

Gregory knew they were talking about him by that point. Someone had been following him and he never realised: that wasn't like him. He always knew when someone was tracking him. Did this mean the man was particularly good or were his own skills failing him? Had he let his slow building obsession with Damien affect his senses. Gregory looked down at the scene again and saw two fearful eyes staring back at him. He froze. Mark had seen him.

"M-Master!"

"What?!" Damien's tone was past impatient.

"P-please. He- he- he's-"

Mark was stopped from finishing his sentence as Damien, moved, blocking Gregory's view and a loud scream then silence was heard. Gregory stared down at the restricted view he had of the situation, just being able to see Damien's back. There was nothing more he could learn. He realised he needed to leave before Damien spotted him - not that he wouldn't love to confront him, find out what his problem was, fight him for information... feel their bodies close together.

Gregory almost felt sick with disgust at himself. Someone had just died and he was fantasising.

Very quietly but quickly he exited Damien's house via the nearest window and a tree branch, making sure to avoid being spotted through the downstairs window. He figured Damien would be busy with the body anyway. Hearing someone being tortured and not doing anything wasn't going to play on his conscience. He'd tortured enough people in his time. He'd just hoped he'd have got more out of it from sticking around to listen. All he got were more questions.

He supposed there was a small feeling of guilt in the back of his head, as if it was reminding him that he was meant to save people like Mark, that he always preached heroism. But Gregory was too involved in his own problems at that point to care about other people's, and this flaw in his character was probably all that had saved his life so far, but would probably kill him one day.

* * *

Later that day - night even - after many hours of forcing himself to wait, of pulling at his hair and pacing his living room, Gregory walked back to Damien's house and knocked on the door. He kept a strong and in control look on his face.

"Why are you stalking me?" he demanded when Damien opened the door.

"_You're_ at _my_ house," retorted Damien, frowning. "And I told you to stay away."

"I'm not going to," Gregory said firmly. "I want to know why you always turn up where I am, why I've had the feeling that I'm being followed," - he lied about the being followed bit because he knew he couldn't mention Mark - "and why I'm still alive."

"Does the fact you're alive bother you?" replied Damien, in a tone mixing annoyance and amusement.

"It just surprises me since you seem to want me dead, yet I'm still here. And every time I see you, you never try to kill me."

Damien scoffed. "Shouldn't you be flattered I no longer want you dead."

"Well I don't know if you do or not. And I would like to know _why _you would ever want me dead?"

"You want to dig around some more?" Damien growled. "I don't want you dead right now but if you continue annoying me _that _could change. And if you wanted to snoop around my house, you could have just asked. I have nothing to hide." He pulled from his pocket a single blond hair which he dropped on Gregory's head. "It just screamed of expensive shampoo."

Why was it that Damien was getting the better of him? Finding him out from a single hair that shouldn't have even been visible to the human eye unless up close. Gregory almost screamed. "No."

Damien glared and stepped closer to Gregory. "Do you _want_ to make me angry?" he snapped. "Because I would kill you now if there was longer left to wait."

Gregory held his ground. "...Until?"

Damien smirked like he was triumphant, then frowned like he was the opposite. "You'll... You'll find out soon enough if you don't already know."

Gregory knew he had no luck furthering that line of enquiry. He changed to another one. "You have blood on your face."

Damien stared blankly at him. "Do you have a point?"

Gregory leant closer to Damien's pale skin, eyes quickly scanning it. He was surprised Damien allowed such a probing, standing there with an almost inhuman cold face. He saw - or rather didn't see - what he was searching for. "You don't have any cuts."

"Observant."

"The blood is someone else's."

Damien nodded and smirked. "It is."

"Did you kill them?" He knew he had.

Damien took another step towards Gregory, staring into his eyes with blackness. "Blondie, you don't want to be asking that question."

Gregory stared back, determined not to falter. "Why?"

Damien's face had grown so close that Gregory should have been able to hear his breath. "Because, ask too many questions and someone's life may be cut short after all." Damien ran his teeth along Gregory's jaw, up to his ear. "A sexy blond I know of."

Gregory held his breath to stop from gasping. He pushed Damien away, politely but firmly, trying not the show this contact had any effect on him. He knew pushing Damien away any more forcefully would inevitably lead him to attack in a fight. He didn't want that. He grit his teeth and looked into Damien's eyes. "You can't keep making death threats and then not following through on them. It's getting old."

Damien laughed. "I'm sorry. Shall I make it up to you? Would you like to grab a coffee?"

"What? You tell me to stay away from you and then you ask me for coffee! You tell me you hate me and then act like this! Why would I want to get coffee with the man who's threatening me all the time and won't tell me why?!"

"How do you know I'm not protecting you from a horrible truth, saving you even?" Damien grabbed Gregory's hand and held it tightly, pulling the blond effortlessly towards him like they were about to dance. He smirked down. Gregory glared back up. Damien's hand burnt.

"Because that would make you the hero, and heroes don't try to kill the ones they 'protect'." Gregory tried to pull his hand away. Damien increased his grip and bent down, kissing it slowly.

"No?" he murmured into the skin. "Not unless the hero was under some kind of spell or had a destiny that he couldn't control on his own." He pulled his head back up and dropped Gregory's hand, gazing, searching in his eyes. Gregory felt like Damien was looking for some kind of recognition in these words. Gregory understood nothing. Damien sighed and pushed Gregory back, closing the door without another word.

Gregory ran a hand through his hair and growled under his breath. He knew he had to be missing something that would help him work it out. There was_ something_ about that man, and sometimes he felt like it was so obvious that he was blindly missing it. He glanced down at his arm, stinging from where Damien had held him. The impossible signs of a burn were forming.

But there was no way... no way someone's hands could be that hot.

* * *

Gregory fell into his bed when he arrived home and barely bothered to pull off his trousers. He felt tired and confused. Christophe must have already gone to bed, which was strange because he usually always sat up late watching the news and blaming God for all the natural disasters that were happening.

Another volcano, floods, a devastating earthquake... plus the fact the sun seemed to be rising a little later than it should.

Gregory listened quietly and heard his answer - Christophe was with a girl. He rolled his eyes and sighed, searching for his iPod in his bedside draw and playing one of his favourite Beatles albums. (It wasn't frequent but there were times when Christophe would kick him from whatever room they were staying in if a beautiful woman caught his eye, and he obviously caught theirs. This was usually after Christophe checked with Gregory if he didn't want sex at all. Gregory never really found that Christophe slept with other men, just him.) As _Yesterday_ rang around his head, he thought over his day and closed his eyes, knowing that however tired he was, sleep was far away.

* * *

Damien sees that Gregory doesn't love him. Gregory feels nothing but repulsion. His only chance is to take it by force; that body, those groans... all for him. To suck on that skin and kiss those lips with the blond reciprocating was too impossible to even dream. Instead he had to dream in non-consensual acts of what anybody else would call lust and hatred. They would never feel Damien's desperation. They couldn't feel it. It was almost as impossible as the dream he wished.

Gregory looks up at Damien in fear and Damien revels in it. The fear feeds his lust. He's hungry for terror; he wants to see dread fill those light-blue eyes. Those eyes pretend to be innocent but they are far from it. Damien is not raping an innocent flower, this man is just as twisted.

Damien rips the blond's trousers away, digging his nails into the man's thighs and listening to the cries of pain. He wants to hear a lot more of those cries, because pain is something. If he can't give pleasure then pain will do.

"Admit you've lost," he growls, staring with an intentionally burning gaze. "You can't stop me."

"I - I - I've lost." Gregory's words scream around him in a desperation he's never heard and can only imagine. He's never heard the blond sound this way.

"And you're all mine." Damien leans forward and sinks his teeth into Gregory's shoulder.

Gregory whimpers. "Yes. All yours."

Damien bites harder, delicious blood pouring from the wound. He sucks at it. "And do you want mercy?!" he yells, pulling back and sitting up.

"Y-Yes! Please." A tear rolls down Gregory's cheek. "Don't do this."

"I have no mercy." Damien pulls Gregory's legs further towards him, watching as Gregory struggles and fails to get away. He forces a kiss onto Gregory's lips and feels them conforming to him, but quivering. He trails kisses along Gregory's neck. "Don't worry. This may even feel good."

"N-No. S-Stop."

Damien looks at Gregory again and the tears are turning to blood, and it's everywhere, dripping down the blond's face and into the bed sheets. Damien tries to grab Gregory's face in panic, to somehow stop the flow, but he stops when he sees his hands are also dripping in blood. And suddenly everywhere is. It's matted in Gregory's hair, running down his chest, from his nose. It's covering the room.

Damien feels the taste in his mouth.

* * *

Damien woke up with a short gasp and glanced around him. He was surprised to feel relief when he realised his was on his own, that it had been a dream. What was this relief? Was he thankful not to be raping Gregory? How, when he'd just been thinking it?

Which one was it? Which side was winning?

He groaned and sunk his teeth into his pillow, willing himself to fall back asleep.

_Stupid mortal. _

* * *

**A/N: How to Tend to a Rose Garden... Please, please, tell me if you worked it out. Think about how awkward the sentences are and leave it in a review if you get it (and then also why it's so relevant). Writing that was hard! If you haven't got it or think I'm talking complete nonsense right now then ask me if you want to know (or otherwise wait for later in the story).**


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Your theories and reviews were brilliant. But you know that, because you're brilliant! **

* * *

Gregory managed five hours sleep and awoke at seven. It was some considerable time later than he heard a stir in Christophe's room and the movement of footsteps to the door. He sighed and wondered why he hadn't left the apartment for a while but decided he wasn't in the mood. Instead he'd slouched on the sofa in a pair of sweatpants he'd stolen from Christophe and watched_ Downton Abbey_. If anyone was to see him in then, he'd immediately fake that he was about to go out for a run. He figured if Damien had any spies on him at that point, they'd see he really wasn't planning anything.

When Christophe came out - in only his underwear, but at least he was actually wearing some - he collapsed next to Gregory and pulled the Brit's legs onto his lap. Gregory turned the television off and smiled, turning to him.

"So..."

"Mmmm."

"Last night... care to tell what that was?"

Christophe laughed. "Zat was sex, Gregory. Eet can 'appen wiz a woman as well." He rolled his eyes. "Not zat you'd know."

Gregory faked a shudder. "The very thought makes me feel queasy." He laughed and hit Christophe. "I have been with a girl before... I just didn't stick around for very long to give it proper attention." He laughed. "Who was she?"

"Bebe." (They were always blonde.) Christophe clucked his tongue. "Went to ze bar looking for you, found her. I assumed you'd gone further afield or were just walking around and got talking to her. Talking just led to more."

"Of course, you're irresistible." Gregory smiled. "Good time?"

"Oui, as much as eet could be."

"Just a one-night thing or was there a spark?"

"Eet's not ze right time for a relationship right now. Not unless..." Christophe looked deep into Gregory's eyes. He gazed for a few moments then sighed, shaking his head. "No, not unless anything."

"I think now would be the perfect opportunity to have someone, Tophe."

"No. Just no."

"Right," replied Gregory with a smile. "Well, whatever you say. She's a nice girl though."

"Oui." Christophe looked down and absently stroked Gregory's legs.

"Is something the matter, Tophe?"

"Non, mon ami," replied Christophe lightly, pushing Gregory's legs from him and standing up. "I... I must go get ready for work." He smiled and walked to his room. Gregory nodded though Christophe couldn't see him, and switched the television on again.

* * *

Damien glared across the table at the red demon who had come to visit him. It was very rare a demon visited the surface because they were bound to stick out and be remembered with how hideous and different they looked. Although nowhere as big as Satan, Zazul was still taller than Damien, with wings. Damien had always liked this demon; he had been one of the ones Damien had taken a liking to as a child when he was learning who he was. He remembered they used to push damned souls into the lake of fire together and laugh for ages. Now Zazul was being serious because all the training of this learning and playing was being put into practice.

"Your father's getting impatient," said Zazul slowly, talking in a low raspy voice. "He wants you back home."

"What's my father doing now?"

"He's dusting the fridge - a clear sign that he's getting agitated."

Typical. "He does realise that once my reign comes there'll be no dusters and fridges?"

"He's willing to make sacrifices and so should you."

"He told me I wasn't allowed back."

"...Until you've killed the problem. Kill the problem." Damien pursed his lips and stared at the demon. The demon blinked his yellow eyes. "What is the problem? He's just a human. They are all going to die. I can feel the darkness coming." He smirked. "We've already taken the moon, and Heaven can't stop us. They can't even try until after a thousand years, and then it's only with the help of-" Zazul glanced around and lowered his voice, "_Jesus_."

"So clearly nothing's going to stop us. I don't need to do anything with Blondie because he's not going to do anything with me. I've been investigating and he doesn't even know I'm the Antichrist!"

"Blondie?" Zazul stared. "You gave the human a nickname? That's cute." He looked over Damien.

"If you have something to say then say it."

"I think you're getting attached to it."

"What?" Damien asked in a bored tone.

"The human. You don't want to kill it... You want to play with it instead."

"Ridiculous. I don't want to risk attacking _him_ or he may just do something to stop me."

"No. You wouldn't be scared of a human... not unless they were bringing about confusing feelings... Or maybe it has nothing to do with him, maybe you don't want this rise at all..."

"That's it! You are speaking far out of line! I am royalty and you will address me as such. I cannot take anymore insolence!" Damien knew such a command would never work. The demon before him had practically raised him.

Zazul shook his head. "I only answer to your father, as was agreed before I became your tutor. If anything, _you_ still answer to _me_."

Damien growled. "Not for long."

"That's the spirit." The demon stood up and walked over to Damien, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's the attitude we want. The world will be yours." He smirked. "Just imagine it. Everything bowing at your feet - you, the undisputed ruler. You'll have more power than any man has dreamed of. Hell will come to Earth."

**'Sounds amazing.'**

Damien licked his lips. This had always been enough to convince him in the past. This had always brought the blackness that allowed him to commit his foul crimes. This is exactly what he was told before he chased Gregory that night.

_'It sounds horrible.'_

That voice. That stupid moral voice, making him doubt, making him see the other possibilities...

"If you try to back out, your father _will_ kill you... repeatedly."

Damien clenched his fist. "There's no way I can back out! I have less and less power over myself every day! When the darkness comes it's so hard to get away from it and think rationally."

"You don't _need_ to. Go with it, kill some mortals, have a laugh." The demon smirked. "Rape a blond."

Damien jerked and pushed the demon to the floor. "You say that again and I'll kill you forever."

"You're acting like you love him." Zazul choked a laugh, pushing himself up. "Those feelings are just lust. As demons we can't feel love." He rolled his eyes. "Grow up, Damien, and accept the realities of your life."

"Yeah, but I'm not a regular demon. I'm different to you._ I_ have a heart."

"Not for long. Soon you won't have to deal with the havoc that organ can wreak." The demon stood up and put a hand on Damien's shoulder. "I understand your doubt. You don't want to kill him because you don't want to face up to the reality of your situation. It's a big thing you're going to have to do but you're ready. Now, come on. Just kill the blond and please your father, then you can have his help again." He patted Damien's back. "You've had taken your last fun from this world confusing the human, now kill him."

Damien nodded.

"Don't forget the prophecy. Remind yourself of it now."

Damien sighed. "Okay, but I'm saying it in my own words, none of that old-timey bullshit.

"So there is a man, who was born on the same day as me, in the same hospital even. What are the odds? He is blond and British and beautiful. They say he looks angelic but isn't an angel. Is perfect but it's all built on imperfection." Damien smirked. "And he is extremely attractive. They didn't lie."

"Right, yes, keep going."

"He was born a rose; I'm a thorn. And this is where that faggy quote comes in: _'The Rose will prune the roots of all evil when he controls the rise of his Thorn.'_"

"Is that the best translation from the original? I've heard better."

"It's been thousands of years since they predicted it! That's the latest and most modern translation, just published in a pamphlet, put inside _Mulch Monthly*_. A few words may be out I guess, it says the same basic thing. What father reads from this is that Gregory will stop my rise, probably by killing me."

"It would be best if you said it in Latin."

"I'm no speaking in fucking Latin." Damien glared. "So, anyway. Father saw this and didn't dare kill Gregory himself, and he threatens me that he'll have another demon kill him but we know he won't. He thinks since we're so linked, _I _have to kill Gregory or he'll kill me."

"Can't you see how true that is?"

"I guess. But I don't see how since he knows nothing about me! I bet he doesn't even know _how _to kill an Antichrist. And I'm confused at how this translation says I'm _his_ thorn. I'm nobody's thorn!"

"Translation error I'd say. Don't worry about it. And he can _learn_ how to kill you." Zazul looked grave. "I'm going to talk to your father, you're going to kill the blond and then we'll meet up later and celebrate. See you in Hell. And if I don't see you in Hell soon then I'll know you've failed us and we'll have to take more drastic measures."

Damien nodded slowly. "It will be done."

*_The sixth issue to be precise. And the pamphlet was placed inside the sixth page._

* * *

Damien knocked slowly on the wood of the door, sensing that only Gregory was inside the apartment, which made what he came to do easier, because he knew he would have probably ended up killing the Frenchman, and that would not have been a good move. When the door opened, Damien was surprised to see Gregory wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, hair in messy curls hanging around his scowling face. It wasn't fair that he still looked expensive and irresistibly sexy.

"Damien, what are you doing here?"

Damien pushed Gregory back effortlessly and stepped inside the apartment so they were standing in the living area. "I'm not a hero. I'm something much more messed up than that."

"Yes I know."

"How much do you know?" Damien grabbed Gregory's wrist. "Do you know the extent of it?"

Gregory attempted to pull his wrist away but Damien held on tightly, shaking his head. Gregory sighed. "You're a very messed up man. And I don't know why you're here, but you're not going to find anything useful."

_Man_... This was all very human.

"I found you, didn't I?"

"Don't even try anything."

Damien felt like he saw as much hate as humanly possible in Gregory's eyes. He always saw it, because why would Gregory feel anything else?

Damien was lonely. Gregory had Christophe, but Damien was desperately alone.

And he would soon be forever alone...

And he just wanted to feel something.

Saying no more words, Damien grabbed Gregory by the arms and pulled him closer. He bent down and forced his lips onto Gregory's. He heard Gregory's startled gasp and felt the breath on his lips, but he didn't wait to see what the blond's reaction would be, he just pulled his arms tighter and continued the bruising kiss.

He didn't know at that point whether Gregory was reacting, if he was screaming or saying anything, because those stupid voices joined him.  
**  
'That's good. Have your fun. Force it further and all these feelings will go.'**

Damien pictured himself throwing Gregory onto his bed, or over the sofa, or even the floor... He heard the screams of protest mixed with his own groans. He pictured Gregory's naked form dripping in sweat and eventually covered in his hot come. He pictured himself feeling nothing, moving on to fulfil his destiny and watching lying Gregory there, crying.

A threat? Blondie was a pathetic human.

'_Don't you dare harm him. Would you want that? Wouldn't you want him to be willing?'  
_  
Willing...

Damien pictured another scene. Him, with his arms around Gregory's waist, pushing him heatedly to the bed, pinning him down and kissing him, pressing himself against the blond and hearing groans of in return. He imagined the connection between them, the longing rather than hatred in Gregory's eyes. He saw an opportunity to explore Gregory's body, to kiss and suck on the skin, stroke every part of it, to make him feel pleasure too.

But what if Gregory didn't want it? And even if he did, Damien would still have to kill him afterwards. That options was too ridiculous to comprehend. It required more than just lust and the physical act of stealing everything from Gregory. It required his heart, the very part of him he was trying to ignore. All those actions would inevitably equal-

_'Love.'_

**'Damien doesn't love.'**

Damien looked down at his grasp on Gregory's arm and let go, ignoring the burning bruises he'd caused to form there - another sign he just hurt everything. He shook his head and walked away, out of the apartment and down the hall, not allowing himself to see Gregory's reaction.

He may have been walking from his only chance to feel that precious pale skin around him. But he knew it could never be consensual, and now he knew that it could never be forced either.

And he saw both hope and despair in this fact.

Hope: that there was some goodness left in him.

Despair: that there was some goodness left in him...

* * *

It was later that night and Gregory felt like shit. He'd changed into more suitable clothes and walked to meet Christophe from work, they'd grabbed a takeaway pizza and had eaten it on a park bench because Gregory wanted some fresh air. Then they'd come home and Gregory was slumped at the breakfast bar. He was tired and fed up of it all. So desperate to find out the truth behind Damien, and what was more, his feelings, he couldn't focus on much else. Thankfully, he had a flatmate who always knew exactly what to say, if you got past all the God-hating profanities of course.

"You look like you need some wine."

He really did love Christophe. The Frenchman was so in tune to his emotions, a master at deducting exactly what Gregory needed and how to help him. A great friend - practically the only friend he had. Gregory and Christophe both had great skill in fucking over all their friends. Pip and Wendy were either very brave or very stupid.

Gregory smiled. "Wine would be just heavenly." He laughed as Christophe grumbled and cursed at his choice in words. The Frenchman appeared back at the kitchen unit, moments later, with two tall glasses and a bottle of red.

"Oh, Tophe, you're so wonderful. Marry me?"

Christophe noticed the bottle was only a screw top. He smirked at Gregory. "Oui, I'll marry you." He opened the bottle and poured the wine.

"How wonderful." Gregory laughed as he imagined what his mother's reaction would be if this news were real. Not that he'd probably tell her since he couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to her. Would she faint or laugh? Or did she not care enough at all to have any kind of reaction? He was sure his aunt would be ecstatic since she'd always loved how complex and 'broken' Christophe was. She always said he needed taking care of.

"Don't I get a ring?" he added playfully.

Christophe rolled his eyes, and pulled the metal rim off the wine bottle. It had some small numbers printed on it but it was bendy and could be squashed to the correct size. Gregory held out his hand and Christophe slipped it onto the appropriate finger, squashing one end to stop it sliding off. "Zere you go." He bent down and kissed Gregory's hand, finishing his fake display of engagement.

Gregory stared at his hand, remembering only in that moment how Damien had kissed his hand, how it had felt so much more confusing, but slightly thrilling. That small action had brought back strong feelings... and then the other kiss... the one he was trying to repress.

... He hadn't even fought against it.

He smiled and picked up his wine glass. "Oh God, I need this."

Christophe gasped. "What ees zat on your arm?"

"What?" Gregory looked down and then inwardly cursed. His shirt arm had ridden up and his impossible burns were visible. He'd rationalised that the only way the burns were possible was that Damien must have had something in his hand to cause deliberate pain to him, because human skin couldn't be that hot. "Oh."

Christophe held Gregory's arm in his hand and pulled his sleeve up to look at it more closely. "'Ow... 'Ow deed zis 'appen?"

Gregory retracted his arm quickly, before Christophe could see the mark was in the shape of a hand. "Water burn. I dropped the kettle." He smiled innocently. "Ran it under cold water quickly afterwards. It doesn't hurt so bad."

Christophe frowned. "Really? ... Eet looks pretty bad."

"I'm fine. Seriously, Tophe. It was an accident."

"...D'accord." Sighing again and muttering under his breath, Christophe picked up his glass and took a swig. He immediately spat the wine out again. "What ees zis? Zis tastes 'orrible. Zis ees not wine."

Gregory laughed. How could he forget? Christophe was a complete wine snob, would only drink the best, the most expensive. He always made a big child-like show of spitting out any wine he didn't like. Gregory took a sip of his own. Well, he quite liked it. It was fruity, not too heavy. Perfectly palatable. Christophe was still glaring at his glass.

"Zis tastes like sheet. I'm not drinking eet."

"I'm surprised you still claim to have perfect wine taste-buds after the amount of cigarettes you've smoked. Are you really not going to drink it?"

Christophe pulled a cigarette from his top pocket and lit it up to emphasise his point. "Non, I 'av no time for bad wine." Gregory supposed there would be more for him in that case, and he was very happy to drink something to numb the pain and confusion of the day.

"Ah, well, there's beer in the fridge."

Christophe grunted and nodded, returning with one and twisting the top of, which was odd because Gregory was sure he hadn't bought that kind. "You really shouldn't drink inferior wine."

"It tastes fine."

Later, after his third or fourth glass of wine, which he'd drunk cuddling with Christophe and watching a random romantic comedy that was on, Gregory didn't feel so good. His head felt tense and he needed fresh air. It was probably the stress of everything. He told Christophe he was going for another walk and left the Frenchman to the rest of the film (because he was really enjoying it).

* * *

Gregory breathed in the air as he walked down the deserted streets. He was going nowhere in particular, just walking, trying to clear his head from the ache it was developing. His limbs felt heavier as well. He must have been tired.

He continued walking, because it felt good to cool down. He hadn't realised it but he was getting hot. He coughed - it caused a painful feeling in his chest. It didn't help. Oh great. A cold could just fuck right off. There was no way he was spending any time ill.

He stopped a moment to catch his breath, staring up at the dark sky.

"Out late, Blondie."

Gregory jumped. He spun around swiftly and scanned his eyes through the darkness. He saw him standing there, in the shadows, all black. Damien. Gregory's heart flipped as his stomach tensed and jaw clenched. To be face-to-face with Damien again caused hatred to bubble. He could feel it in his fists that wanted to attack the other, hit him all over his body, run over every part leaving marks. His mouth wanted to get close and scream verbal assaults - it wanted to scream them directly into Damien's smirking grin. _How dare he be causing these feelings?_

Gregory's temperature grew. "What's your point?" he asked. His voice did not contain the strength he wished it to have.

Damien stared emptily at him with his black eyes. "Nothing."

"Good," choked Gregory, and continued walking.

"Not staying to chat?"

Gregory turned back around and glared at Damien's smirking face. "I thought maybe talking was no longer your style."

Damien frowned - he almost looked confused. Gregory would have believed him to be so if he didn't know that Damien was extremely manipulative, and facial expressions meant _nothing._ "What do you mean?"

Gregory stepped close to Damien again, trying to ignore the slight dizziness this gave him. He could feel his state declining. He needed to get back to his apartment, sleep, and hope it was all better in the morning. It was probably just the wine having a negative effect on his strained system. "I know you're trying to c-confuse me. W-Why-" Gregory had to stop mid-sentence to cough. Now, even his eyelids were feeling heavy. "Why else w-would you kiss me?"

"Because you're just so sexy I can't control my..." Damien trailed of as he looked at Gregory again, who was leaning forward slightly, with his hands resting on his knees. "Are you okay?"

Gregory straightened up and mustered the strength to glare again. He hadn't heard what Damien had said, but assumed it was something offensive. "Fuck you."

"I don't think you're in any fit state to be fucking people."

Gregory shook his head. "I don't have time for this." He coughed again, burning in his lungs.

"What? Time before you pass out?"

"I am fine," Gregory weakly pushed past Damien, walking towards the 'comfort' of his apartment. Maybe Christophe would run him a bath if he saw the state of him - not that Christophe had run many baths in his lifetime.

He didn't sense that Damien had followed him and assumed that the black-haired man was continuing with whatever probably illegal activities he was doing before Gregory turned up.

Gregory stumbled down the road. Without knowing why, he knew he _was_ in trouble. He just didn't want to admit it to Damien. He didn't want that asshole to have anything over him. Damien was trouble. Damien was tracking him. Weakness would be the perfect opportunity to do whatever it was he was after doing.

Gregory's body was on fire and his vision was blurring. He coughed; his lungs felt tight.

He had no idea what to do.

He took another step forward but his foot never found the ground again. He fell forward, down to his knees, trembling. He looked around in the darkness, not sure whether to pathetically call for help or attempt to crawl somewhere - but where? He couldn't see a thing and his blurring vision was worrying him. He coughed again, gasping slightly at the tightness. Had he been poisoned by some slow-acting substance? Was he to die in the street? These were the questions running through his mind as two bright red lights headed towards him.

His first thought was that they were car headlights, and he was going to die so uninspiring as being hit by a car. However, he soon realised they were too small to be headlights, and he was on the sidewalk. He blinked, the lights disappeared, and in his state he could hardly recall them being there.

Sometime soon after that - seconds, minutes... Gregory didn't know, but he thought it must have been soon, Damien returned.

"You're not okay are you, Blondie?"

Gregory shook his head, gasping. He could feel the sweat running down his forehead, the burning through his whole body. "N-No."

Damien knelt down. "Would you like some help?" He sounded in control, but Gregory could sense his slight urgency.

Gregory groaned, curling his fingers. "N-No." He hopelessly tried to push the man away, but clung onto his shirt instead. Everything was dark... and it was spinning. All he could feel was that he was so cold, and he wanted to cling to warmth, and God, Damien was warmth.

Gregory coughed. "Cold... I'm it's..." He spluttered again as he swallowed down air and entwined his fingers further into Damien's t-shirt. "Hot... Cold." He was desperately trying to make sense. But he felt the coldness? Yes, it was turning to coldness... the cold burning taking over him.

"Fuck." Damien snarled. Gregory felt himself lifted into warm arms, and then nothing after that until suddenly he was being held over a toilet bowl. The smell of bleach made him nauseous, he couldn't stomach bleach. And as expected, soon he couldn't stomach anything and found himself throwing up. He was still being held; the room was spinning. He felt a cup press to his mouth. When had Damien gotten the cup? "Drink this," growled a voice behind him. He tried to push away the cup, but he couldn't move his arms. He could barely move his head. The cup was being tilted up, over his lips and he had no choice but to drink it.

It was salty, too salty, like sea water, he felt like he was drowning. It made him throw up again. Damien still held him, as he gagged over the toilet, emptying his insides. The cup was eventually raised to his lips again, and he tried to mutter _no_, but it was no good; he was forced into drinking it. Tears ran down his face, sweat dripping everywhere. Shivering, dizzy, all he wanted to do was curl up and sleep, yet Damien would not let him. Damien continued to make him throw up, but held him softly. Gregory felt like he was being tortured... but protectively.

_What does that even mean? I'm going to die here._

He felt a kiss to the back of his head. "Keep going." Damien was whispering softly into Gregory's ear. "I know it's horrible, but please, keep going." Gregory wanted to scream and demand what was going on, but he couldn't; he was barely with it and knew that all he could do was be sick. "You'll be okay, Blondie." Damien's tone was surprisingly soft and caring. He was trying to be reassuring, but Gregory could sense the worry in his urgency. A confused hand rested on his back, gently rubbing. It was enough to make him keep going.

It continued until Gregory's throat was excruciatingly sore from stomach acid and all he could do was whimper at the pain. His eyes had been closed throughout the whole ordeal. When Damien finally stopped the torture, he was allowed to collapse onto the cold tiles. The feel was soothing his head but intensified his shivers. He wanted warmth. He could sense Damien's presence over him. He tried to open his eyes, peel the lids stuck with sweat and tears apart. He could see through the haze two bright red orbs again. He closed his eyes - it was too confusing. _Car headlights._

He felt a hand run over his head... a warm hand. It made him think of Christophe. He clung to the hand, pulling himself up the arm, grabbing a shoulder with shaking determination to pull the person nearer. With all his strength he mumbled Christophe's name, over and over. "Tophe... Tophe. I need... Tophe." He was clinging to Damien. Damien's shirt was splattered with vomit; his own shirt was wet with sweat. His head dizzied as Damien removed both of them, throwing them on top of a hamper in the bathroom. Gregory fell further into Damien's warm chest as he was pulled close. "Mmnn uh."

"I'm not _Tophe_." Gregory knew that but he clung just as tightly to the warmth, still shivering. He just wanted the warmth. He felt himself lifted off the ground again, this time onto something soft and secure. He sensed he was finally being given the opportunity to sleep and he took it, arms still tightly clinging to Damien, because he didn't know what else to do in that moment. Their chests were pressed together. He heard Damien hiss...

_"Damien."_

And then he felt it, soothing warmth spread through his body, soaking into the pain. It drew the pain away and replaced it with numbness. This warmth filled his empty stomach, calming the acid, stopping the burning. It ran through his veins, mixing with his blood. It felt like a gift from God at that moment, relieving him of his torment. It wasn't long until his dizzying head and sudden blissful state sent him drifting under.


	10. Chapter Ten

_A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews. They do make me smile! It's an easy way to make someone's day! :)) _

_I suppose this should settle any doubt about Christophe._

* * *

Wendy groaned, head bent over the toilet bowl, stomach swirling. She supposed she should be getting used to it but she absolutely detested being sick. Another thing she now hated: anything that smelled like lemon, and unfortunately the house did. It wouldn't do; she would have to get a different bleach, a different cleaner. This was worse than living in Hell. She groaned again and threw up.

Her front door unlocked and from it came the kind, gentle voice that she was sure anyone would fall in love with if it was directed to them the way it was to her.

"Wendy?" called Stan, shutting the door gently. "Hello?"

"I'm here," she replied weakly, unable to pull herself up from her position. She must have looked dreadful - tangled hair scraped back in a ponytail, a horrible sheen on her face and absolutely no make-up (because screw that routine when she had to carry around a baby and had always hated it anyway).

She heard a rustle of a bag being put in the kitchen and then felt Stan crouching beside her, a warm hand running over her forehead. She glanced over her shoulder into Stan's kind eyes. "Hi."

"Hey," he said, smiling gently.

"Don't look at me, I'm a mess."

"Really? I think you look as beautiful now as the day I first shared my juicebox with you... granted you smell worse." Stan chuckled and kissed the back of Wendy's head. "But you're perfect."

"You're so soppy."

Stan laughed. "I got you the lemon tart you wanted, though it looks unnaturally yellow."

"No! No! Stan, no!" she yelled and then turned her head back to the bowl, removing the last of her breakfast from her stomach. Stan's hands rested on her shoulders as he spoke quickly, with endearing panic in his voice.

"I'm sorry! What did I do?! I'm sorry!"

She chuckled and pulled Stan into a sideways hug, aware she wasn't very appealing and had fowl smelling breath, but unable to resist his warmth and comfort, especially still in his soft coat, with his hair cute and ruffled and his cheeks rosy from the cold air. "I'm sorry for yelling." She bit her lip and rested her head on Stan's chest. "It's the hormones because, well, I'm pregnant. And it all adds up that you're the father."

"I know," whispered Stan, holding her tighter.

Tears came to her eyes. "How do you know?"

"It's obvious you're pregnant from the way you're acting. And I - I had this feeling I was the father. I don't know why, but... I did."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm _terrified_, but I'm so excited."

"Me too. We're going to be parents, Stan. _Us_."

"We'll be brilliant." Stan turned Wendy's face to him and kissed her cheek, both of them still sitting on the floor. "Does anyone else know?"

"Gregory guessed I was pregnant the first time I saw him, not long before... you know..."

"Mmmm." Stan sighed. "Gregory isn't a bad person to have on your side I guess."

"No, he's always so in control of his life."

Stan shrugged. "Seems to be."

* * *

It was early in the morning and Gregory woke up to a warm, very real presence next to him. It wasn't like sleeping with Christophe. Damien's arms were wrapped around him. It felt very close, like they weren't just sleeping next to each other, they were sleeping _together_.

Gregory shook the idea out of his head - the very thought was messed up and had absolutely no basis. His head was spinning and he felt like he was about to pass out again, he had to at least control his thoughts about analysing sleeping arrangements. He cautiously slipped out of Damien's hold, managing not to disturb the sleeping man. He rolled off the bed; but rather than landing gracefully on his feet like he usually did, he ended up on his face.

He bit his lip and weakly pushed himself up. He shouldn't have been moving at all but he needed to get away from Damien.

He allowed himself a glance over his shoulder at the perfect sleeping face before dragging himself out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror, inwardly recoiling as his body was too weak to allow the physical movement. He had never looked so unattractive, with blood-shot eyes, curly hair in disarray and greasy from the sweat he remembered of the previous night. His skin was an unhealthy shade of pale, save for the dark circles under his eyes. This was not how he imagined himself looking when he pictured him and Damien lying in bed together.

He almost wretched as he sniffed himself; and quietly he splashed cold water onto his face and chest, just to feel even an ounce fresher. Dizzily, he searched for his shirt, vaguely remembering it being removed in the same room. He found it draped over the wash basket and pulled it back out, giving it a disgusted glance. Why would Damien put it there? Had he expected Gregory to stay in the morning? Wear his clothes?

Gregory had to get out.

He pulled his shirt back on, beginning to do up the buttons. But he didn't manage many until a dizzying suddenly ran through his head and he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Damien had tried to stay awake all night to watch over Gregory, keep the numbing healing pumping through him, but sometime in the early morning he'd fallen asleep too, out of pure exhaustion and a strange sense of peace at being close to the sleeping blond. When he woke up and saw Gregory had gone, he panicked, worrying the blond would have fallen down the stairs or landed somewhere hard in what must have been a weak state. He found him slumped outside the bathroom and picked him up, holding him close in relief.

Gregory groaned. "S-Stop, I need to go."

"Not until you can walk." Damien lay Gregory down on the bed again and stroked his head, checking his temperature, which he was relieved to feel was cooler than the previous night. Gregory lay limp before him, and Damien hated seeing it.

"I - I have to-" Gregory trailed out, mouth hanging open. Damien smiled lightly and took off Gregory's shirt again, then made sure he was comfy, supporting his head with pillows. He pulled the duvet halfway over Gregory and then left the bedroom, taking laundry from the basket and putting it in with Gregory's shirt. He made dry toast and tea without milk, then took them back upstairs to find Gregory on the floor again.

He sighed and put what he was carrying down on the bedside table, then picked Gregory up and put him back on the bed. "Blondie, stay still. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I c-can't," Gregory choked out, voice sounding dry. He looked with dark eyes at Damien.

"I'm not forcing you to stay, but you can't do much without my help, I'm sorry. It's knocked you weak." Damien sat next to Gregory and propped him up, ending up with him slouched helplessly against his shoulder. He picked up the tea and blew on it, then held it to Gregory's mouth carefully. "Please, drink something." He hoped it didn't remind Gregory too much of the previous night. Damien had felt so terrible making him drink salty water to deliberately throw up.

Gregory's hands fell around Damien's and together they enabled him to take a sip. Damien watched Gregory's face and gave him another when he was ready. He pulled the mug away and heard Gregory grumbling.

"Tastes... horrible..."

"I didn't want to risk putting milk in because I don't want to make you sick again," Damien explained. He pointed at a piece of toast. "Eat that or I'll feed you." He watched as Gregory took a few bites, chewing and then panting, like it caused difficulty. He made Gregory drink some more and then smiled, a little happier.

"Okay, Blondie, you're done." Damien lay him down again and stroked his forehead before Gregory could protest.

"W-What's wrong w-with m-me?" Gregory managed with great difficulty. Damien sighed and hugged Gregory close, selfishly making the most of the opportunity not to be pushed away. He knew he was doing no harm, in fact, just being touched by Damien should make Gregory feel less pain if Damien wanted it.

"You've been poisoned, or drugged, or something," Damien said. "I don't know why or who by, but we got it all out of you last night. Now you just need more sleep." He felt the tickle of Gregory's head against his neck and saw with amazement that Gregory had nestled closer to him, resting against his shoulder.

"Mmmnn I - sick."

"Yeah, you were sick. But don't worry, you're safe here, right now. You're safe to sleep."

Gregory groaned and nodded, then fell back asleep within seconds. Damien watched him, feeling all the love he could possibly feel, mixed with guilt from everything he'd ever done to Gregory and anybody else. He let these emotions take hold and consume him, because they stopped the hatred and evil that was trying to return. He could keep this good side with him as long as he tortured himself.

Trying to kill Gregory, threatening Pip, killing Mark, his past with Christophe, all the other people he'd harmed, lives he'd ruined: he felt it all. His throat was dry, there was a loud pumping in his ears. The screams, he could hear them, begging, crying, pained. They were shrill, people stolen of life. He couldn't steal any more life, couldn't bear it.

He stroked Gregory's hair and knew that he couldn't keep the blond next to him for long, because he'd eventually turn so violently, that death would follow. He was like Jekyll and Hyde, only Hyde was set to take over the world, and Jekyll couldn't live if they were to kill Hyde.

* * *

Christophe had fallen asleep after the movie had ended, waking up sometime around two in the morning in a daze. He'd frowned, immediately noticing Gregory's shoes and coat were still gone. He looked around the apartment, checked his phone, and then panicked. He hadn't managed to fall back asleep with Gregory not there. Staying out all night only meant one of a few possibilities and none of them pleased him.

He'd just started his second packet of cigarettes since the previous night and was distractedly making eggs when he heard the door unlock. He flew towards it, throwing his cigarette into an ashtray on the way past. He stopped when he saw Damien holding a very still Gregory.

"Don't panic," said Damien quickly. "He's fine! I didn't-"

Christophe cut him off by throwing a punch into his jaw and pulling Gregory away from him. "What ze fuck did you do?"

Damien held his jaw with one hand and held his other hand up. "Nothing! Please! I've been taking care of him, not harming him." He looked like he was reaching out a hand to touch Gregory. Christophe pulled Gregory back and scowled.

"Don't."

Damien nodded sadly. "Just... Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?"

"You."

"Not me."

Christophe glared at Damien. "I don't think zere's anybody else." He looked at the darkness around Damien's eyes and the distress on his face and sighed. "Just come inside a moment." He pointed to the sofa. "Sit zere and _don't_ move."

Christophe took Gregory into his arms and carried him to his bed, laying him down carefully. He noticed that Gregory was wearing a shirt that didn't belong to either of them, hanging loose on him. It must have been Damien's. He felt like ripping it off but didn't dare interfere. Damien seemed generally caring and worried. He almost looked as dreadful as Gregory. Christophe stroked Gregory's hair softly as he thought.

He knew who Damien was. He'd known as a teenager that Damien was the Antichrist after he had shown him some of the tricks he could do. Christophe had been so high that he'd loved it, watched in awe. He hadn't appreciated how dangerous Damien was the same. The reason he hadn't told Gregory the truth was a simple one - if Gregory knew that the Antichrist was hunting him, there'd be no stopping him until he'd discovered why. And Christophe was more interested in Gregory's safety than knowing the truth.

But it seemed inevitable now: Gregory and Damien must have seen more of each other than Christophe knew. He walked back into the living room and lit another cigarette, glaring at Damien and standing in front of him. He hated how tall Damien was, even sitting down.

"I don't like you," he said.

"I know."

"You helped fuel some of ze worst years of my life, which only ended wiz ze help of ze incredible person een ze bedroom: Gregory. I'd probably be dead eef eet wasn't for him. He deserves so much good. But what does he get? You trying to kill him."

"I-"

"I don't care why. Zere's no reason good enough. And I don't even care eef you don't want to do eet again. _You_ put him een danger and I will never like you for zat."

Damien hung his head. "I know," he whispered softly.

"Were you involved wiz ze incident een Denver?"

"I - I arranged them to attack him, but then as I was watching, I also arranged it so that Gregory won the fight." Damien ran a hand through his hair. "You have to believe me. I can't kill him. I found him collapsed on the ground last night, poisoned by something. Did he have anything last night? Something you didn't?"

Christophe pointed at an almost empty bottle on the counter. "Zat. I spat eet out." He frowned. "He drank a lot."

Damien pointed a hand at the bottle and made it fly towards him, which would have made Christophe angry if he wasn't so distracted. Damien sniffed it and then narrowed his eyes. "Yep, that's tainted." He put the bottle down and shook his head. "I made him throw it all up and then healed him."

Christophe was relieved, but couldn't feel grateful. Because without Damien, he was sure there wouldn't have been any of that danger for Gregory. "Ees zere any more I should know?"

"You'll have to ask him. I'm not sharing anymore."

Christophe drew on his cigarette, hating that there was more. "Why did you want to kill 'im?"

Damien stared sadly at Christophe and shook his head. "I want to tell you, but if I do then I'm worried I'll lose control of myself again. I'm alright at the moment but it will come back... It will." He looked really distressed, clutching at his hair. He looked like a little child who was at any moment going to curl into a ball. "Ask Pip. He'll tell you."

Christophe would remember this. "So eet wasn't you who poisoned Gregory?"

"No!"

"And eet wasn't one of your demons?"

Damien stared wide-eyed at Christophe and suddenly jumped up. "Fuck!"

"What?!"

But Damien was already running out of the door.

* * *

When Gregory woke up again, he saw that he was no longer with Damien but with Christophe, resting next to him on his bed. He was wearing Damien's shirt. The whole house smelled strongly of smoke but the smell of the shirt drifted to his nostrils and sent pulses to his brain, enough to immediately make him alert. It was so intoxicating that his heart beat faster and it almost felt like Damien's arms were around him. He took a shaky breath and turned to Christophe who was sat up and frowning.

"... 'Ow do you feel?"

"Better." Gregory sat up and nodded. "Much better." And he did.

"Good." Christophe nodded his head, still frowning. Something wasn't right.

"Tophe, are you okay?"

"Mmmm." Christophe got off the bed. "Let's go een ze ozer room. Zere's more space." Gregory frowned and nodded, following. Space? Since when did they need more space? Christophe led him to the kitchen and then stood facing him, across the breakfast bar, not sitting down. "I spoke to Damien."

"Oh?" Gregory's heart missed a beat. "Does he know what exactly happened now?"

"Maybe."

Gregory bit his lip. "It's lucky he found me. I... He was so good."

Christophe banged his fist down on the counter fiercely. "Non! Eef he hadn't found you een ze first place, none of zis would be happening. Eet ees not lucky!"

"Without Damien I would have died!"

"_Wiz_ Damien you might die," Christophe growled. "Have you been arranging to see him? Have you been going near him?"

"No!" Gregory yelled quickly. "No... Not really... Yes..."

"Don't be a fool, Gregory; you don't know what he's capable of."

"Yes I am! I know you don't like me near him but I can make my own decisions and I've decided that I _want_ to see Damien." Gregory bit his lip as he prepared himself for the next part of what he wanted to say. He'd not said it out loud before, and he was scared that saying it out loud would not only confirm it but make it much stronger. "I think I have feelings for him." He looked down at the ground. "Feelings I've never felt before."

And his heart beat faster.

Christophe stared and shook his head. "Non. Non, you can't."

"I'm afraid it's true." Gregory looked up slowly. "I don't understand it but I know it."

"NON!" Christophe yelled, clutching the counter. "Zis ees all wrong! Zis ees not how eet should be!"

"Probably not, but then I don't know how it should be." Gregory smiled weakly. "So I guess we could say this is normal."

"_You _can say eet's normal, but not I. I think eet's wrong and I will not support eet!" Christophe verbally growled before his next line. "I 'ate 'im and I'm not too pleased wiz you right now eizer!"

"Well luckily this has nothing to do with you!" retorted Gregory shortly.

"Zis has everything to do wiz me!"

"Why?!"

"Because I-" Christophe cut himself off, looking terrified. He grit his teeth and shook his head. "Never mind, like you'd give a fuck about me anyway. You're so selfish. You think you're so observant but you don't half miss ze obvious things."

"What am I missing?!"

"I don't know! Everything! I just - can't you feel how stupid you're being? I have this feeling zat tells me everything could be easier but you never let eet and you'll never feel it back and eet makes me so angry!" He stormed off to his bedroom but not before he kicked a dining chair and sent it toppling over, landing on the floor with a loud bang and a louder following silence.

Gregory picked up the chair, sat on it, and then collapsed his head on the table, crying into his arms.

* * *

Damien had called Zazul to him, forced him to appear. And he was so quick to find the truth. He was angry, and anyone would be wise not to argue. "You poisoned him!" He held his throat tight and stared into his eyes with deadly black. The demon finally looked scared, finally like he understood he'd overstepped the line. Damien _was_ his better.

"I-I n-no not exactly. I drugged him for you so you could have some fun. I got into his apartment, put it in the wine. I m-must have used too much."

"You fucker." This only made Damien angrier, dropping him to the floor and kicking him. "You low life."

"P-Please, have mercy," he whimpered, head bowed.

Funny, a demon begging for mercy. Damien could make demons whimper. And for the first time, both sides were in agreement.

'Finish him, Damien.' 

And he did, sending a bolt of energy through him that even an immortal couldn't survive. This demon would be stripped of his rank, powers, everything; doomed to spend the rest of eternity in Hell, no higher than a mortal. Damien snarled and sent him there.

* * *

Christophe eventually re-appeared from his bedroom, taking one look at Gregory slouched over the table and immediately encasing him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around his friend and ignored the flinching, holding him tight until Gregory turned and hugged back, burying his face into his shoulder and sniffing.

"Je suis désolé, mon ami," he muttered.

"Me too, Tophe." Gregory's voice sounded broken. "I wish I could see the easy way." Christophe stroked Gregory's hair.

"Je sais."

All Christophe wanted to do was kiss him tenderly and tell him the truth: how desperately he loved him, how he had since they were teenagers. Gregory was his first love, his only love, and probably his last one. However, as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't say it. Gregory would never love him back; and if he were to tell, he'd lose everything.

He'd lose the chance to touch Gregory over his soft body, caress tender areas, or even just his thick blond hair. He'd lose the casual nudity and mornings in bed together, the chance to spoil Gregory and just be alone. Their bond would never be the same, not if Gregory realised how past the line of normal friendship they were.

With the threat of Damien, Christophe knew he was set to lose this soon anyway. And to Gregory it would feel like the beginning of something exciting and amazing, but to him it would feel like the end of everything. Christophe had always had more than he could expect from Gregory, and if he was going to lose it to Damien then he needed to not wreck his friendship, however tempting it felt to just run away.

He sighed and let go of Gregory, sitting next to him and stroking his hair. "I think you should go and see Damien." He sighed. "And demand the truth."

It was probably time Gregory knew the truth (the little bit Christophe knew and whatever else it was that was slowly ruining their lives).

"Do you know the truth?"

Christophe shook his head. "I cannot tell you. You must find ze truth yourself."

Gregory looked Christophe up and down. "There's a big secret isn't there?" The Frenchman didn't reply. "I will find it."

"Oui." Christophe dropped his hand. "Well before you go out anywhere, you should eat. I'll make you something while you sort yourself out. Because you really need to take a shower. You stink. And your hair... eet ees dreadful."

Gregory looked like he wanted to cry again but he chuckled and reached his arms to Christophe in another hug. "Oh, I love you so much, Tophe."

Christophe sighed and hugged Gregory back, stroking his hair. A single tear rolled down his face from his left eye, over his round tanned cheek and the stubble above his lip, until the salty taste seeped into his mouth. The taste would refuse to leave for a great amount of time after. "Oui. I love you too," he whispered as he closed his eyes.


End file.
